Of Mages and Kings
by TheCrimsonZephyr
Summary: A century ago, a legion of Orlesian chevaliers was lost in the Korcari Wilds, thought to have been wiped out to a man. Now, in the year 9:28 Dragon, reports have reached the court of Highever, in the north of Ferelden, of corpses mysteriously appearing in the south with centuries-old livery. A nobleman and his mage son must gather a band to investigate these events.
1. Chapter I

_**Dragon Age: Of Mages and Kings**_

**_Chapter I: Blood and Lyrium_**

Alexander Maron was the son of Fereldan and Tevinter nobility, the scion of a rising, newly independent kingdom on his father's side and the legacy of the last embers of a dying empire on his mother's. Born ten years after his father, William, had marched to war alongside Bryce Cousland, the teyrn of the great coastal city of Highever, against the Orlesian occupiers of Ferelden, the young Alexander was named heir to the seat of Silverclaw, an immensely wealthy bannorn rich in gold, silver, and lyrium, the mystical substance used in the arcane. His mother, Helena, was the last daughter of Senator Lucius Deverus, who had fled political turmoil in the Tevinter Imperium to settle in Ferelden. The bannorn of Ashcrown, located southeast of Highever, was the new bannorn of House Deverus, granted to Ser Marcus Deverus by King Maric Theirin for the family's service to Ferelden. At times, the union of old Fereldan blood with old Tevinter blood was looked upon with suspicion, but the young Lady of Silverclaw proved to be an exceedingly benevolent mistress and the opposition was mollified.

The year was 9:28 Dragon. It was the third year of the reign of Cailan Theirin, son of King Maric and Queen Rowan of Redcliffe. Alexander had been taken to the Circle of Magi at age eight, having discovered to have magical abilities. As mages could tap into the power of the Fade, and thus potential draw demons into the world of the living, all mages were brought under the control of the Chantry, the church of the Maker, which was charged with their training, imprisonment, and elimination if they deemed such action necessary. Now he was eighteen, and on the cusp of his Harrowing, the test for which all mages were subjected to. They were sent to the Fade, where they would meet a demon. If they drove away the demon and returned to the living, they passed and would be made full members of the Circle, the enchanters. If they failed, being killed by one of the Templars guarding their body was the most merciful end imaginable.

The Templar guards opened the great doors for the young apprentice. He was dressed in robes of dark blue and gold trim, fastened by a belt with a buckle depicting a snarling wolf. His staff was unusual in that it was more like a spear or a halberd. On one end, of course, was the magical crystal which emitted fire, ice, lightning, and spirit magic as he commanded. On the other end was a blade and adjacent to it, screwed onto the side of the shaft, was an axe head meant for splitting plate armor. He handed his staff to one of the senior enchanters, and walked into the harrowing chamber.

There were three individuals he could recognize. The first was First Enchanter Irving. He was old, _very _old; his longevity such that Alexander had not met a single person in the tower who knew what the Circle in Ferelden had been like before him. Some remembered when he was young and hale, with a beard without gray, but they too were quite old. The King-Commander, Greagoir, was standing next to him, and he was similarly wizened, though whereas Irving was like a gnarled oak, great and powerful, but rooted in place and twisted by the ravages of age, Greagoir was like an old lion, his gaze sharp and his voice forceful. Like Irving, he too was bearded, but it was a soldier's beard, trim and tidy. The third was a woman, his teacher, Wynne. She was also old. _I'm surrounded by geriatrics as usual_, Alexander thought as he approached, though he quietly hoped he would look half as good as any of the three at their age, and he was already considered quite handsome by his peers.

"My apprentice, have you slept well and breakfasted?" Wynne asked her student. Her tone was motherly, reassuring and calm, but with a hint of worry.

"I ate lightly, as you instructed, and I slept as well as can be expected under such circumstances," said Alexander. "I know that this is my Harrowing, First Enchanter, there is no need for you to burden yourself in explaining it to me."

"Then are you prepared to face the Fade itself, and join your brothers and sisters of the Circle as an enchanter?" Irving asked.

"I am," said Alexander, his voice deep and clear.

"Then step forward," said Greagoir. "Magic is meant to serve man, never to rule over him. So spoke the Prophet Andraste, bride of the Maker, as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium. Your magic is a gift, but it is also a curse. From the Fade, demons would seek to use you as a conduit to enter the mortal realm and destroy it. This is your final test, apprentice, to prove that you are worthy of wielding such power."

Alexander stepped onto the dais at the center of the chamber. The Templars surrounded the dais, their sword hilts gripped. The young mage could not see any of the faces behind the helms, but if he could, he knew they would all look terrified. A mage that turned into an abomination could easily any one of them before being put down.

"Calm down, Reginald, you look like you're going to wet yourself," said Alexander with a smirk to the Templar directly in front of him. "What should I do with this lyrium?" he asked Wynne, pointing to the pool of bright blue liquid in an elevated basin on the dais.

"Breathe it in," she said. "The Veil in this area has been made more permeable. Once you expose yourself to the lyrium, you will be able to cross that threshold. Good luck, and do be careful."

"I always am, mum," said Alexander with a flippant tone. He bent down and breathed in the vaporing blue liquid – and then started coughing violently.

"Oh Maker!" he exclaimed. "This wretched stuff must be pure lyrium! My nose burns and my face feels numb and – what the?"

He stumbled and fell to the floor, as his legs had given way. "I can't feel my legs, they're like pudding and my eyes feel like they're being tugged out of their sockets! And it's burning my throat – all the – way down!"

"Relax!" Wynne cried, kneeling down and lying him down on his back. "Be calm, this is normal for those who take in pure lyrium for the first time! Breathe…"

Alexander stopped coughing and everything started feeling numb; his face lost sensation, and the smirk that he always seemed to wear slackened and became blank. His arms fell limply at his side and his breathing steadied, as if he were drifting into a deep sleep. Alexander could have sworn that he was flying. Everything was becoming stranger. The edges around people and objects were becoming blurrier and less distinct. Colors gained greater contrast and light became increasingly harsh. There was a feeling of being yanked upward, and he was gone.

OOOOO

He didn't know where he was or how he got there. Suddenly, he was standing in a poor imitation of the streets of Minrathous, the capital of the Tevinter Imperium. Or, it had to be Minrathous because he could see the Argent Tower off in the distance. That was the seat of the magisters, the rulers of that empire, the mage lords who ruled their lands through blood and lyrium. And he was their scion through their mother.

The Fade was a strange place. Everything seemed to be blurry. He looked down at his hands and discovered that they seemed to lack defined edges, and when he looked at his reflect in a pane of glass, the harsh light made him look much paler than he actually was. The sky was bleak and small continents floated there, though he doubted he had time to explore them. The greatest of the continents was _His _land, the Maker's domain, the Black City, tarnished by the magisters of old who invaded the sacred realm and blackened it with sin. It stood as a last testament to the magisters' betrayal and the god's absence. There, he promised, was one place he would _never_ visit, if for no other reason but the name.

Alexander kept walking down a street until he encountered an orb of energy, ominously floating in the street. The orb spun around and began zooming toward him. He did not have a staff with him, so instead, he balled his fist and hurled a bolt of lightning at the orb, which exploded and dissipated as soon as it was hit. Another three orbs zoomed toward him, but Alexander extended his left arm and shot a jet of flames, engulfing them.

"So I take it I'm not welcome," Alexander muttered. "This place is looking lovely already. I'm here in my mind. Why would the magisters ever bother coming here in person?"

He continued walking, taking a left at the next turn, towards a nearby gladiatorial arena. These Fade domains were organized logically, and if he were to have to face a demon or a spirit, it would likely be in a place meant specifically for battle. So he continued on, hoping to reach there as fast as possible. As he continued on, he noticed another mage fighting a couple of rage demons.

_I could stop to help him, but I don't know how long I'll need to fight this demon_, Alexander thought. _But I will definitely need the help, and he looks like he needs a hand. _So, he balled his fist and shot a blast of ice at the rage demons, killing one of them and immobilizing the second. The other mage was then able to dispatch it, and they were saved.

"What's your name?" Alexander asked.

"Lucius," said the mage. "My name is Lucius Marius. "

The young Tevinter mage looked astonishingly similar to him, Alexander noted. They had the same aristocratic good looks, witty smirk, and aquiline nose. His eyes were blue, unlike Alexander's winter-grey, and his hair was fiery red while Alexander's hair was as black as coal, but they both had thick heads of hair which they combed in precisely the same way. When Lucius approached to shake Alexander's hand, the apprentice noted that they both stood at exactly six feet, two inches tall. _This is eerie_, Alexander thought.

"My name is Alexander Maron," he said, shaking Lucius's hand. "Are you injured?"

"A little singed, but otherwise, I am unhurt. You are headed to the arena?" Lucius asked.

"I have to do battle with a demon," said Alexander. "I figured that it would be located in a place where one would do battle."

"A fair assumption," said Lucius. "I should accompany you. These streets are dangerous. Fade spirits and demons stalk our steps. If we fight together, we both have a better chance of surviving."

"You, er, don't want anything in return for helping me?" Alexander asked hesitantly.

"You already saved my life," said Lucius. "I always repay debts, and I would consider my debt to you settled by helping you reach your goal. Here is a staff I collected from a dead mage. You will need more power in the coming battle."

"Thank you. We should be off," said Alexander. "I don't know how long the Templars will give me, but I don't want to dally. To the arena!"

The two of them walked through the city of Minrathous. It was once the greatest city of mankind, built during their earliest years on Thedas, when the elves owned the land and the trees sang of their empire, Arlathan. It was a time when the Tevinters were a hardy, proud people of farmers, merchants, and sailors. Their empire grew to encompass all of the northern coast of Thedas, absorbing the cities of the other human tribes arriving by ship from Par Vollen.

"Before the Old Gods, our people built a glorious kingdom and at its center was this city, Minrathous," said Lucius. "We lived peacefully with the elves and they taught us their ways, they taught us magic. But then Dumat came and corrupted those gifts. Our rulers became corrupt. They hoarded their knowledge in Circles of Magi. The rich ruled over the poor, the strong over the weak, the magical over the mundane, and the Empire decayed. A nation of farmers and sailors had become a nation of warlocks and slaves. We destroyed the elves, and then the Qunari butchered us, but even though we still live, we will never be able to go back."

Alexander looked around. The cobblestones were cracked, many buildings were burned down and used as shanties, and the high walls around the city were crumbling. Only the Argent Tower seemed to be in pristine condition and, no doubt, the mansions of Tevinter magisters would be similarly unblemished. He recalled the writings of Brother Ferdinand Genitivi, who described Tevinter as a slattern whose days of beauty were long past, but still clung to the shreds of her former glory in an attempt to recapture them. If Ferelden, the land of his birth were a rising star of a nation, emerging from obscurity and oppression to make its mark on the world, Tevinter was its opposite, a land whose glory was waning, whose splendor was spent, and whose star had long since burned out.

"Who is the man we are facing," said Alexander.

"His name is Gaius Aurelius," said Lucius. "He is a commander of the Northern Guard, the legion known as the 'Hammer of the Qun.' Years ago, his family had my father and mother killed for opposing him in the Senate. I am going to pay him back for his cruelty."

"That's terrible," said Alexander. "Were you the only survivor?"

"My wife and I survived," said Lucius. "We fled south to Antiva, but by then, Gaius had taken control of much of the Senate. We could never go back, at least not for long."

"So how did you survive?" Alexander asked.

"We had money," said Lucius. "We invested in banking and replenished our fortune and resettled in a house outside Antiva City. From the looks of it, you are also of high birth. You carry yourself with the confidence of a young lordling."

"I am of high birth, yes," said Alexander. "My father is Lord William Maron, bann of Silverclaw and chancellor in the court of Highever. His mother was Lady Cecilia Cousland, making him the cousin of the current teyrn of Highever, Bryce Cousland, whose father, Lord Callum, was Cecilia's older brother. That makes my father currently fourth in line to the teyrnir. As his son, I am fifth in line, and first in line to the seat of Silverclaw, the wealthiest bannorn in the wealthiest region of Highever. But, technically, no longer."

"Why not?" Lucius asked. "You seem like an astute lad. Why you be disowned?"

"My father didn't disown me," said Alexander. "He was distraught when I was taken and refused to sign any agreement to formally disown me. The Chantry came to a compromise, since he started threatening to invade Kinloch Hold and slaughter every mage in Ferelden if I were stripped of my entire inheritance."

"Would he have actually gone through with his threat?" Lucius asked as they kept walking.

"No," said Alexander. "But he might have been able to, seeing as his bannorn can cut off access to Orlais by both land and sea. The threat brought the Chantry to the negotiating table. I was given fifty percent of the family's assets, while the rest was written over to my next youngest sibling, whoever it is when my father dies. Right now, my sister Victoria is heir to the seat of Silverclaw. What I _did _receive will make me incredibly wealthy, though I will never be a lord…"

"You would have been a powerful lord in Tevinter with such assets, if becoming a lord is your wish," said Lucius.

"Tevinter is a vile place," said Alexander. "My predicament might seem like damnation, but there much worse things in this world than the Circle of Magi. If I could become a lord, I would want to be a good one. Someone the people could look to for balanced and fair leadership, and not just bread and circuses."

"My father was such a man," said Lucius. "He was fair, and loyal, and kind and the people who he watched over and protected turned around and betrayed him. They supported Gaius over him and a mob of them killed my mother."

"Your father was a magister," said Alexander. "Ferelden is different. There are good people in power there. King Cailan is a good man. Teyrn Bryce, Arl Eamon, Bann Teagan, Teyrn Loghain, Arl Wulff – all of them are good men and loyal men. You do not need to worry about daggers to the back in Ferelden."

"Likely because true Fereldans stab you in the front," said Lucius.

The pair of them laughed and continued walking. The streets became narrower and more cramped. The people they walked by were poorer and some looked like they were contemplating thievery, but they knew Alexander and Lucius were mages and thus they kept their distance.

"Do you have anyone else you care about?" Lucius asked.

"Why do you ask," said Alexander.

"Everyone has someone they care about," said Lucius. "They're the people we look forward to seeing after a long day's journey. I was just curious who yours are."

Alexander considered the question. "Well, I have my teacher. Her name's Wynne. I'm her fifth student, but only the third to make it this far. She has high hopes for me, thinks I might make it to First Enchanter someday…"

"Do you want to be First Enchanter?" Lucius asked.

"Maybe," said Alexander. "But I doubt Irving is going to die any time soon, so it's a moot point."

"You could kill him," said Lucius.

"How did I know you were going to say that?" Alexander sighed. "Oh, of course, disgraced son of a magister. You _never _get insane suggestions from them, right? Why don't I kill Irving? One, he'd kick my ass. Two, it's a reprehensible act. Irving is a good man. And three, I don't want to. I have standards you see, and murder falls well outside them."

"Sorry, it's just that it is commonplace to kill rivals solely for the purpose of personal advancement," said Lucius. "At least, it's common in my country."

"And the magisters wonder why everyone from little old revered mothers to the goddamned Qunari hates them," Alexander muttered.

"Because the Chantry in Orlais is packed with treasonous whores and the Qunari are heathen dogs who dare to defy our power," said Lucius.

The two of them kept walking, but Alexander arched an eyebrow and glanced at his companion. "You don't make a lot of friends, do you?"

"I had many of them," said Lucius. "There was Marcus Janarius – we used to throw discus together every afternoon before supper. And there was Avelisa Thalani, she was a gifted flutist and singer. And last but not least, Artorius Mascius. He was my friend in the legion. We served together in Legion XI on the western coast of Seheron."

"Why did they ditch you?" Alexander asked.

"They didn't," said Lucius. "At least, if it were their choice, they would still be at my side. We were inseparable. Marcus insulted a member of the local collegium. Two thugs held him down while the leader castrated him. They threw him into the sea afterwards, with lead weights clamped to his feet. Avelisa's father was a member of the Senate. When he did not vote as the Archon wished for him to, the Archon's lictors invaded the Thalani estate and butchered everyone inside. Her mother was raped by fifty soldiers before someone was decent enough to slit her throat."

_But not decent enough to consider not raping her in the first place_, Alexander thought. _These Tevinters have strange ways of thinking._

"What happened to Avelisa?" Alexander asked.

"She was still a virgin, so she was merely enslaved," said Lucius. "Better she died that day. I found her years later toiling on the wine estate of a magister from Vol Dorma. He had displaced the small farmers who had left their land to go fight the Archon's wars. She was heavy with child, and had already given birth to three brats. Her…_husband_ was this fat, slovenly creature who stank of sweat and shit. One day, he was more drunk than usual, and she refused sex, so he had her tied up and beat her to death with a flail. At her funeral, I couldn't even recognize the corpse they were burning. Later that day, I killed the magister. His colleagues were fishing pieces of him out of their soup for weeks afterward."

"What happened to Artorius?" Alexander asked.

"He was captured by the Qunari," said Lucius. "I killed my way through scores of Qunari and infiltrated the city of Alam. I found him working in a slave camp, where Qunari took honest Tevinter people and turned them into followers of their religion. We escaped, but before we could return to my camp, he tried to alert the Qunari."

"They had already turned him?"

"Yes," said Lucius. "I bashed his brains in. Then, I went back to Alam, freed the rest of the slaves and captured the Qunari bitch who was trying to turn them. I had her flayed and hung on the gate of our base camp. Vultures were picking at her body even while she still drew breath."

Alexander felt somewhat ashamed of himself for poking fun at Lucius. The Tevinter Imperium was truly a terrible place to produce such memories. He could have been exactly like Lucius if he had grown up there. Thankfully, his own grandfather and mother escaped from there. They finally came upon the street where the arena was located, but a great mob blocked their path and groups of people were fighting each other in the streets. Off to the side was a wolf, but this wolf looked diseased and tired. It was lying in a pile of refuse and lazily gazed up at the two mages as they approached.

"We could try to fight our way through," said Lucius.

"We would end up dying, Lucius, there are hundreds of them," said Alexander.

"You won't have to fight them," said the wolf.

"Did that wolf just speak?" Lucius asked.

"Yeah, I'd consider that not normal, though I guess that's irrelevant here," said Alexander. "If you have a way past this battle, just tell us the catch and help us get on our way, please."

"If you answer my three riddles correctly, I will grant you the power of shapeshifting," said the wolf. "You may choose any animal you see fit and it will be granted."

Alexander looked at the wolf. "You're a demon aren't you?"

The wolf looked up at him balefully. "Yes…"

"What will happen if I answer your riddles incorrectly?" Alexander asked.

"Then I will gain your body and take it as my own," said the wolf.

"You won't get far if you did, but let's begin, then," said Alexander. The crowd seemed to be separate from them, though both he and Lucius could see their tumult in the street.

"Very well," said the wolf. "I run, but I cannot walk. I have a mouth, but I never talk. I have a head, but I never weep. I have a bed, though I never sleep."

Alexander looked back at Lucius. "Don't look at me," said Lucius. "I'm terrible at this sort of thing. You're on your own."

_Of course I am,_ Alexander thought. "Very well. Let's see, a bed but 'never sleep,' a mouth that never talks…it's not a flower bed – water runs…headwater…riverbed – a river! The answer is a river."

The wolf snarled quietly. "Yes, that is correct. Next: one by one, we fall from the heavens, down into the depths of past, and our world is ever upturned so that yet some time we'll last."

Alexander scratched his chin. "'One by one,' so there are many of them. 'Into the depths of the past' means that it deals with time, and 'upturning' repeats the whole process – it's an hourglass."

The wolf rested its head in dismay. "You are correct. The final riddle: What single work can one never finish?"

"Well, if it is a work like a tome or a treatise, then the only work a person can never finish is their own autobiography," said Alexander. "At death, their life is complete, but they're not exactly going to be around to write about the conclusion. An autobiography will only have as much of their life as they witnessed until that moment."

The wolf grumbled. "Yes, you are correct. Which of you will be shapeshifting?"

"Lucius will be," said Alexander.

"I would have thought you would have liked the honor," said Lucius.

"Better that you, a spirit of the Fade, accept the gift of a demon," said Alexander. "I have no idea what he would try to do to me."

"That is very wise, young apprentice," said Lucius. "Very well, I shall transform into a griffon. I will be able to transport you directly to the arena, where you will face Gaius and the way out will be revealed."

The wolf stared at Lucius. There was a sharp flash of light and the wolf vanished. Where Lucius once stood, a creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle was now standing with its wings outstretched. It gave a great cry and bowed its head. Alexander took that as a request for him to climb on. They then flew high above the streets of Minrathous, where the tumult and the squalor of the streets below seemed like a distant memory. They flew fast towards a nearby hill, where a circular coliseum was located. Lucius the griffon flew over the stands and then dove towards the battlefield, where gladiators were already doing battle.

Alexander jump off of Lucius and landed softly on the sandy battlefield. He raised his staff and shot a jet of flames at one gladiator, scorching him to a crisp. He then turned around and blocked the incoming blow of another gladiator, who swung his longsword vertically. Alexander swung his staff ninety degrees counterclockwise, bashing the warrior in the face with his staff's head, and then gaining the leverage to yank his longsword away with a quick twist. He kicked the gladiator down before bashing him in the face with his staff.

Lucius had transformed back into the redheaded mage and was shocking a group of five gladiators into unconsciousness with a blast of lightning. They crumpled lifelessly in the sand. In the stands above, an announcer was watching the sudden arrival of two mages to the bloodbath with barely contained excitement.

"AND NOW, IN A STUNNING DEVELOPMENT, TWO MAGES HAVE FLOWN INTO THE ARENA ON WHAT APPEARS TO BE A GRIFFON!" he exclaimed. "WILL THESE TWO MYSTERIOUS CHALLENGERS BE ABLE TO DEFEAT THE UNTOUCHABLE GAIUS AND END HIS REIGN IN THIS ARENA?"

_You'd better believe it, announcer man_, Alexander thought, looking up at the corpulent figure, who was turning red in exertion, having to shout at the top of his lungs to be heard by the people in the stands.

Alexander picked up the sword of the fallen gladiator and sheathed it at his belt. He then turned to face the last challenger, the Tevinter magister Gaius, Lucius's archenemy. He was tall and plain looking, with soft brown hair and eyes. His muscles were toned and rippled under his mage's robes, and his face bore a scar on his left cheek.

"You have come too far," said Gaius.

"I know what you are," said Alexander. "I am to face you to escape this place."

"Is that what Lucius over there told you?" Gaius asked, his mouth twisting into a smirk. "So much has changed, yet so much has stayed the same. You are not the first to take up his cause to fight me, and you will not be the last. Come then, face me! I will feast on your entrails and draw the marrow from your bones when I have defeated you.

_Yes, this fellow…definitely evil_, Alexander thought.

Gaius raised his staff and lunged at Alexander, who blocked the blow, but fell to the ground. When it seemed like the Tevinter had the upper hand, Alexander drew his sword, rolled out of the way and sliced off Gaius's leg at the knee, bringing him down. The apprentice administered the _coup de grace_ by cutting off Gaius's head. His body crackled and disappeared in a flash of energy.

The sound of cheering seemed distant and the environment was shimmering. The gateway back to Thedas was opening up. He would be able to go home. But still, this fight seemed like it was not his final test. Alexander looked at Lucius. "This was too easy," he said.

"Perhaps you are simply an incredibly powerful mage," said Lucius.

"Scores of mages have passed through this test unscathed; I am no different," said Alexander. "That demon was too easy. You. You are the demon that I was supposed to face, and you tried to get in my good books by doing a rather poor imitation of my grandfather."

"What do you mean?" Lucius asked.

"My grandfather was Senator Lucius Marius Deverus, the one-time rival of Senator Gaius Aurelius Varian. You have the red hair and blue eyes of my mother Helena and our appearances are too similar to be a coincidence. Did you really think I would not notice?"

"My daughters were named Maria – all three," said Lucius. "We called them Maria Prima, Maria Secunda, and Maria Tertia to differentiate."

"I know Ancient Tevene, Lucius," said Alexander. "My mother taught me Ancient Tevinter naming conventions when I was a boy. She was Maria Secunda, though she was called Helena because she was the most beautiful of the three sisters."

Lucius smiled. "Please continue."

"I thought you were merely a spirit offering aid, but once Gaius fell so quickly, I knew he was of no significance. Gaius Varian has no significance to my life. The Harrowing is meant to not only test my worthiness as a mage, but have me face some aspect of my innermost being. A demon would more likely imitate a beloved family member than a person whose name I may have read twice in a tattered old history book."

"You are very astute," said Lucius. His appearance began to change. His hair grayed, his shoulders became more stooped, and his skin started wrinkling. "I wanted to see whether you would catch on. If you hadn't, the portal back to Thedas would have opened and I would have journeyed there to rest in your mind."

"Why tell me?" Alexander asked.

"Because you already figured it out," said Lucius. "I am a demon, but I am a noble demon, if you will. The point was never to simply possess you. The point was to see whether you were foolish enough to be possessed. You are not."

"How many mages were?"

"I have encountered five," said Lucius. "All, but one were killed trying to prevent me from following them through the portal."

"Will you attempt the same with me?" Alexander asked.

"Your suspicion is noted, but no, I will not," said Lucius. "I will open it, and then I shall leave this part of the Fade. There are places here that I have never seen. Perhaps I will journey to them and go on my own adventure for glory, riches, and fame."

Lucius turned and made to walk away. Alexander called out from the portal back to Thedas, "Wait! Before you go, I want to know…what kind of demon you are."

The aged Tevinter looked at him and then stood in place, his form transforming and growing until he became a massive saurian pride demon, complete with four narrow eyes and a spikey carapace of armor. Lucius's voice became deep and ragged. "**GO FORTH, YOUNG MAGE!**" he roared. "**YOU HAVE PASSED YOUR TEST, BUT BEWARE! THE TRUE TEST OF THE FADE IS MORE THAN ONE OF BRAWN! Careless trust, the preconceptions of a child's mind, unfounded pride…**

"**Do take care of yourself, Alexander. The true tests never end…"**


	2. Chapter II

_**Chapter II: A History of Wolves**_

Three weeks after his Harrowing, Alexander was given his enchanter's robes and a new bedroom on a different floor of the tower from the apprentice dormitories. The bed was large enough for two people, and it was arranged with a vanity and dresser at its side. The near wall was lined with bookshelves. The Tranquil had enlisted twelve of their number to carry his entire collection of books, scrolls, and tomes from a storage room in the tower catacombs up five floors to his new room. His girlfriend, Antonia Maitland, had met with him there and from there they had journeyed to the First Enchanter's office to decide which of the fraternities of enchanters they wished to join.

The Circle of Magi was divided into five political parties, each reflecting a mage's view on the Circle's relationship to the outside world. The Loyalists believed that the status quo was sufficient, that the position of mages in a position of servitude to the Chantry was ordained by the Maker, and that the Templars had every right to keep them shackled, as they were extremely dangerous individuals. Despite the stereotype of Loyalists being unthinking slaves to the Chantry's every whim, their points on the dangers of magic were valid, even if they were used as justification for a system which granted most mages second-class citizenship at best, even in their own homelands.

The Aequitarians were similarly supportive of the status quo, but were not driven by religion, rather by a pragmatic moderation, and a desire to use their magic to help those in need. When considering the fraternity's strengths, Alexander was reminded of his father's words before he left for the Circle, that his magic should reflect the best and not the basest elements of his personality. That was perhaps an easy encapsulation of the Aequitarians' philosophy. Several of the other fraternities found the description of the Aequitarians as the "party of responsibility" to be insulting – implying that those who did not join that fraternity were not good mages, an attitude the Chantry tacitly shared. And of course, an organization which had an infuriating habit of never taking sides also was hated by those on either side of an issue for allegedly triangulating influence away from those who want change in one way or another, inevitably causing _nothing _to change and the Circle to calcify.

The Libertarians were the foils of the Loyalists, believing that mages should be self-governing. How they planned to build a reliable order of mage law enforcers to replace the Templars, they never said. But they viewed the current state of mages as little more than slavers and like the Loyalists, behind the caricatured stereotypes of anarchic sorcerers, they also had a point. Mages were taken by the Circle when they are just children, ordered what to wear, what to read, and what to believe from the day they set foot on Circle grounds. They are prevented by Chantry from owning property, inheriting lands and titles, marrying, having custody of their children should they be so fortunate as to have them, or live outside the confines of the Circle. Should a war break out between the Chantry and her enemies, the mages were obligated to fight, under pain of extermination, their own opinions on the conflict ignored.

The Lucrosians were more maligned than the Libertarians due to their goals being the accumulation of wealth and political power, and were thus the butt of warnings that personal ambition was an entirely evil undertaking. Then again, for a social group where even tangible things like property and money were denied, the goals of the Lucrosians seemed reasonable at times. The Isolationists' dream of creating a land where all mages could live free from the prying eyes of the mundane was dismissed by nearly everyone. Such a country would take decades, perhaps even centuries to become powerful or wealthy enough to stand on its own, and the presence of an entire nation of Magi would simply give an excuse for the Chantry to attack. The final Fraternity was the Formari, the enchanters and potion makers' guild who generated much of the Circle's income. Because their work was largely disconnected from the innate abilities of a mage, the fraternity was populated mostly by the Tranquil.

Alexander and Antonia decided to join the Aequitarians, after Alexander pointed out to his lover that being perceived as a moderate with no ideological bent would allow them to be seen as acceptable for leadership positions in the Circle, or for coveted positions such as the court advisor at a lord's castle. Their membership to the Aequitarians was a polite fiction, for neither of them were defined by their following of a simple, but ambiguous desire to do some good in the world.

In his heart, Alexander was a Lucrosian. He was one of the few mages who could claim wealth independent of the riches his family gained as lords of a gold-and-silver-rich region of Ferelden, as he was a talented enough enchanter to market his skills for a profit. He was also the son of a prominent bann sworn to Highever; his name was Lord William Maron, called "the Grey,"the Old Wolf of Silverclaw. Lord William was known as Teyrn Bryce Cousland's sword. When vassals became unruly, or if barbarians encroached upon the western border of Ferelden, Teyrn Cousland would send Bann Maron to deal with them. More often than not, diplomacy was enough to carry the day, but when war came, his father was a master. In the year 9:21 Dragon, three tribes of Avvars invaded Ferelden, and in the year 9:22, they retreated westward over the Frostback Mountains with a tenth of their people. During the rebellion against Orlais, while Loghain Mac Tir defeated the forces within the country still loyal to the usurper Meghren, William led a counter-invasion into Orlais itself. The city of Jader was burned to the ground, and Halamshiral was put under siege, before a negotiated settlement was reached and the Emperor effectively abandoned the usurper king.

Alexander never forgot the day he was compelled to leave his father's castle at Silverclaw. Lord William had been hunting with the Teyrn when it happened, and thus Alexander, as his father's heir, was acting lord in his place. Thus, his person was, under Fereldan law, inviolable without exception. One day, he came across a cart that had fallen on top of its driver. The man's legs were broken, and he was slowly being crushed to death. As several men heaved the cart or frantically tried to shift its contents off, Alexander could remember his mind becoming light and ethereal. His hand rose, and he remembered energy coursing through his fingertips. The cart rose into the air and hovered briefly. His guards took the opportunity to drag the man out from under the cart, and some of the townspeople watched in awe, in _horror_, as Alexander lowered the cart to the ground as if it were lighter than a stone.

He still remembered the man whose petition he was listening to when the Templars entered his father's court. He remembered how boring he thought it was to hold court. Still a boy of eight, he simply wanted to go outside, where he was sure he would find his favorite sister Rose playing in the garden, or perhaps visit his mother to see his younger twin brothers, Richard and James, who were two at the time. But his father's castellan, an old man named Luther, had told him that as lord and bann, it was his duty to listen to those he would prefer not to listen to, even when other, more frivolous matters occupied his mind. The townsfolk of the town of Silverclaw had approached him with a petition, for him to release some of Silverclaw Castle's stonemasons to them for a week. Their houses had fallen into disrepair after the thaw of the previous winter and rats were becoming a more persistent problem.

"I will send Orengar and ten of our masons into town on the morrow," Alexander had assured him, trying as best he could to make his voice authoritative and less like a child's. "You may go."

After the townsfolk had left, Knight-Commander Ser Reginald Bramford approached. He had a fierce gaze and a bristly golden beard. His hand was resting on his sword when he spoke. "Alexander Maron, by the authority vested in me by the Templars of Highever, I hereby declare you a mage and dictate that you come with me at once. The Circle awaits you."

"Whilst my father is away, Ser Reginald, I am Lord of Silverclaw," Alexander had replied. "Even the Maker must respect the laws of the land, and they do not permit a knight, _of any order_, to make such demands of a lord."

The knights of Silverclaw had realized that their young liege was correct. While he commanded the seat of the western march of Silverclaw, and while the king still counted him a bann, he could not be touched by the Templar knight. This did not stop Ser Reginald.

"I will answer this defiance in steel if I must," said the Templar.

"To bear steel against a lord and against your host is a terrible crime, Ser Reginald," said Alexander. "So long as such threats remain words and not actions, you may remain free, but do not make such threats lightly. Perhaps we could wait until my father returns. I would not want to leave Silverclaw untended, as my siblings are all younger than I am."

"Silverclaw will be in good hands, lord," said Luther. "Nevertheless, there must be a Maron sitting the seat of this castle."

Alexander looked back at Ser Reginald, who shrugged, said, "So be it," and drew his sword. With one cut, he had sliced a guard through the throat, and then stabbed another in the heart. The rest of Alexander's guards moved on him. The Captain, Ser Marcus Deverus, Alexander's cousin from his mother's family, wrenched the sword out of Ser Reginald's hand and held his blade at the Templar's throat.

"My superiors know that I am here," said Ser Reginald. "If I do not report back, or if I do not return with you in shackles, mage, an army will descend upon this fortress, burn the towers and keep, slaughter the cattle and the peasants, burn the crops, the fields, and the towns, and kill any guard, noble, or kinsman who stands in our way. Our duty is ordained by the Maker and just, but our wrath can be stayed if you surrender yourself."

Alexander had laughed at this threat. "Those are big words from a man at my mercy. Have you no knowledge of history? This castle, this city, has never fallen. It has survived twenty-nine sieges, but has never dipped its banners for an invading army, not even the _Maker's_ army."

"Scoff all you want, boy, but you will come with me to Kinloch Hold," said Ser Reginald.

"Over my dead body!" Ser Marcus spat.

"That can be arranged," said Ser Reginald.

Suddenly, a scout had entered. "My lord, an army of Templars has landed outside of Winterport!"

"Their numbers?" asked Ser Marcus Deverus.

"A thousand strong," said the scout. "My companions have sent word to the villages on the path to Silverclaw. They are raising sentry levies in case they attack, but we will not be able to protect all of the farms, and the mines are exposed."

"They are here for me," said Alexander. "Ser Luther, prepare a company of twelve knights and my carriage. I will be traveling south, to spare my people the encroachment of a Templar force. But put this scum in the dungeons," he added, giving Ser Reginald a disdainful glare. "Tomorrow, come the dawn, my father will have his head for spilling blood in his hall and for violating the guest right."

Ser Luther Baird had looked at him with a mixture of consternation, but also pride. He gave a gruff nod and then went off to make the arrangements. In the meantime, two guards escorted Ser Reginald to the dungeons, while Ser Marcus looked at Alexander. "Cousin, I would not surrender you to the Templars, not while we can still fight them."

"No one is surrendering," Alexander said to him. "One day, I would have to learn to use my powers. Innocent people need not die while I stave off the inevitable. One day, when I am a man grown and a mage in my prime, I will return and I will become your lord once more. Until then, serve my father and protect my brothers and sisters."

"The Chantry will never allow you to return," Ser Marcus warned him.

"I will find a way," Alexander replied to him. "And when I return, I will have the hand of the law on my side. Even the Maker will be compelled to obey. So, it's not farewell, cousin."

He would find a way, Alexander had repeated often when the Circle was at its worst, when the Templars and the Chantry became unreasonable and the stone walls of the tower became as stifling as a tomb. The mantra sustained him along with the memories of the warm fires of his mother's hearth, the green fields at the foot of the castle of Silverclaw, the quaint buildings of the town which surrounded it, or the smell of the sea in the distance. He would find a way to escape, to become a lord and sit on the throne that his father now held. He would find a way to reclaim his inheritance. In his heart, he was a Lucrosian. He wanted to reclaim what had been taken from him. But he would do so without becoming like the magisters of old.

Antonia, meanwhile, believed strongly in the cause of mage emancipation ever since she had been taken from her father, from the meadows outside Highever where she and her family had lived. She had told him about them – her father Ser Angus Maitland, a knight sworn to Highever; her mother Julia, and her elder brother Roger – and she would often express how terribly she missed them. Alexander remembered well, however, how she had crossed Miriam, the Revered Mother who was posted at the chapel in the Circle Tower. She had crossed the fierce old woman with a question regarding the freedom of mages. The Revered Mother had just completed her recitation of a popular story in the Chantry: the attempted apotheosis of the Tevinter magisters and the creation of the first darkspawn.

The story went that five Tevinter magisters, one of whom was the Archon at the time, gathered all the lyrium in the Empire and one hundred thousand elven slaves together with the intention of using their blood and the lyrium to fuel a massive spell which would tear open the Veil and allow them to physically enter the Golden City, the city of the Maker. When they reached the city, they corrupted it, turning it black and bringing the Taint of the darkspawn with them. Alexander never paid attention to the myriad retellings of the story, each one becoming more ridiculous, more incendiary than the last. He had his eyes on Antonia Maitland, red-haired, blue-eyed beauty that she was.

"If the Maker wanted to punish the magisters, why did He not simply strike them all dead?" she had asked. "Judging from His powers, He could have done so. Why create the darkspawn and trouble innocent people?"  
"The darkspawn, insolent girl, are a punishment from the Maker designed not only to scourge the guilty, but also to remind the innocent of the price of defiance," Miriam replied.

Antonia, then twelve years old, was not satisfied with this answer. "But there is little difference in the two punishments! The original magisters, whatever they became, are long dead, and over the course of four Blights, more people were lost to the darkspawn than were sacrificed to the Tevinter Imperium. Surely the Maker's intention was not to beat the Imperium at its own game, and if He is, why do we sing of His benevolence?"

Miriam had gone very silent when she heard Antonia's words. "I would expect such filth from the mouth of a mage and from the spawn of barbaric Fereldans at that. Let me tell you something, Miss Maitland. Every action the Maker takes is just because He is just. If He were to kill me, it would be just. If He were to burn this tower down, it would be just. If He were to allow you to be ravaged by a score of barbarian warriors, that would be just! So, how _dare_ you question His light? You will be whipped, girl. You will be whipped until you bow before the font of the Maker and take His love into your heart!"

She punctuated her rant with a slap to Antonia's face hard enough that her lower lip began to bleed.

Alexander had risen to his feet. He remembered feeling the blood pounding in his ears and his throat constrict in fear as he rose. None of the other mage apprentices had stood up or spoken out, for they were too afraid and their names did not carry the weight of an angry and powerful lord from the north. But his father had taught him to _always _stand for those who were oppressed, for those who needed help, and he wasn't about to abandon those lessons as a mage.

"Enough!" he shouted at Miriam. Even though he was not yet a man grown, he tried to stand as tall as he could and give the authoritative air of a soldier, which was harder than described, for his voice had not yet deepened. "Do not touch her! She has only presented a question and an argument, and you would have her whipped raw? Are you a priestess or a tyrant that you would abuse a girl?"

"Be very careful, Alexander Maron – your father will not always be here to protect you from the Maker's light."

"So much is already clear," said Alexander. "Had he been here, you would have died before that strike had fallen upon her face."

His heart was racing and sweat pooled in his palms. He was in _big_ trouble, but while he was going so strong, he had thought he might as well continue. "You do nothing, but feed us propaganda, and then have us whipped when we question it. Andraste and King Maric fought against such tyranny. For the past three weeks, you've been going on, all day and all night, about how the mages are the source of everyone's problems, that the Maker was right to create the darkspawn to punish _five_ magisters and that Fereldans, a people of honor and rich culture, are barbarians. When we spoke of the Qunari Wars, every person you mentioned was an Orlesian or a Templar knight – this despite most of the generals being Nevarran, most of the troops being Tevinter, and the _mage_ who killed the Arishok in single combat being from _Denerim_.

"When we spoke of the creation of Ferelden, you spoke only of the Nevarran Circle mages who arrived years after Calenhad conquered Denerim and not of Aldenon, the hedge mage who served as the Silver King's greatest advisor. When you spoke of Andraste's rebellion, you neglected the contributions of the great elf Shartan and claim all Magi supported the Imperium. They did not. The first mages in Ferelden were sympathetic Tevinters – Tavarus the Golden; Marius Collatinus; and Gaius Sardan, the White Falcon. When you spoke of Maric's rebellion, you only deplored the court mage of Meghren, Severan, and said nothing of the mages who assisted our king, including our current First Enchanter. Don't feed us bullshit, Revered Mother, and assume we can't tell what it is! And if we have to be whipped because we speak out, then you can whip me first."

Miriam seethed when she heard this. "You will both be punished. Guards, take Maron and this little bitch to the dungeons. Have them whipped fifty times each."

"Fifty lashes would kill them, Revered Mother," said her Templar guard, who bristled at the order. "Honor demands that I ask you to lessen it."

"Forty, then," said Miriam. "Forty for the Prince in Rags and thirty for that red-haired brat!"

"No more than thirty, Revered Mother," said the Templar.

"Very well, thirty and twenty, if you must make do, but take them out of my sight!" said Miriam irritably.

The Templars had dragged them from their "history" class to the dungeons, located in the catacombs of the tower, where they were both disrobed and shackled. The jailer, a man from the Anderfels named Gronn, brought out a large horsewhip and had dealt each of them their thirty lashes. As the son of a lord, Alexander never knew what it was liked to be whipped. His mother never beat any of her children, and his father had a distaste for administering whipping because, as he had once said, when one is whipped, ten lashes is just as painful as twenty is just as painful as thirty.

When Gronn had finished, some healers came in and applied a nasty smelling salve to their wounds. Alexander did not expect the ointment to sting so terribly upon application, but such things were to be expected. Antonia gave a sharp yelp before quieting. They were given individual prison cots and began the process of recovering. By the time their wounds had healed, Antonia had become more affectionate with him, calling him "Alexander" instead of the more derisive "Lord Maron," as she usually had. Finally, she asked him one day, "Why did you speak up on my behalf in front of the Revered Mother? You would not have aroused her attention if you had simply stayed silent."

"Unfortunately, it is not in my nature to stay silent when others are being mistreated or punished needlessly." Alexander said to her. "Once you spoke out of turn to her, you were going to be punished. Even if I tried to object, or if the Knight-Commander had quarreled with her over the issue, you would still have felt the Templars' lash. I figured, if I could not stop her, I'd, at the very least, keep you company."

"You sound as though you are speaking from experience," she replied, and then winced for she had shifted awkwardly and contacted her mending back to the stone wall.

"I was whipped by Gronn many times," said Alexander. "The Revered Mother felt that I needed to be broken like a horse before I would be compliant. Horses may be broken, but not the men of Highever. Try not to disturb those wounds."

Antonia had looked dismayed. "I only asked the Revered Mother a question…"

"Those are not tolerated from mages," said Alexander. "Miriam, at the very least, is _consistently _unpleasant. Mother Cora tried to get every elf mage in the tower made Tranquil. Greagoir and Hadley refused, of course, and that's why, on account of the Grand Cleric's intervention, she is now _Sister _Cora. Still would have preferred to have the bitch leave, but ah, you never get what you want here."

"Sometimes you might," she replied, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "Better?" she asked, with a playful grin.

"Loads," Alexander replied.

She leaned in again, and then kissed him full on the lips. His mind practically exploded at the contact. He could taste the mint in her breath, could smell the soap and perfume in her cascading locks of red-gold hair. When he had come to his senses, he remembered gazing into her bright blue eyes with his of winter gray. In truth, Alexander had been attracted to her since they were children. Their shared Higheverian noble heritage, love of books, and desire to be battlemages drew them together, and while he did not think he had such motives in mind when he defended her, he was quite pleased that she had responded so positively to his actions.

From that moment onward, Antonia had known she was a member of the Libertarian Fraternity at heart, even if her better sense convinced her to ally with the Aequitarians out of concerns of political expedience. To his delight, he and Antonia had entered into a close relationship, and while it was agreed by many that Antonia was quite beautiful, Alexander was more attracted to her mind, which was as sharp as his. Alexander loved the study of Force Magic, the art of harnessing gravity as a magically-driven force. He had already published three papers regarding the subject before his Harrowing, regarding the potential usefulness of such magic when massed in a battlefield setting. Antonia, consequently, was a Spirit Healer, and she was interested in learning about the anatomical differences between Dwarves, Elves, and Humans such that specialized spells could be made to more effectively treat each species, a pursuit that was unfortunately banned by the Chantry. The two of them loved books, and were well-versed in history, herbalism, and languages. Alexander, being an enchanter, had some knowledge of metallurgy, while Antonia knew more than he did about restorative herbs. With their expertise in languages combined, their fluency canvassed every culture of Thedas, save the Dalish elves. Alexander, having been born of a Tevinter mother, knew Ancient Tevene, Arcanum, several dialects of the Anderfels, and the language of the Qunari. As his father had fought Orlais for much of his early life, Alexander also learned some of those local dialects as well. Antonia knew Antivan and several languages from Rivain, and some Dwarvish. There was talk among the mages that other women were more beautiful, such as Solona Amell, the First Enchanter's apprentice, or even Lady Elissa Cousland, that Antonia was but a torch compared to the rising sun. And what man would prefer a flickering flame, however warm and merry, to a blazing star, but when Alexander considered his lover's beauty and intellect combined, he did not mind that her looks could be surpassed, for her mind and wit were a star whose radiance could never be extinguished.

Alexander looked down at Antonia from his perch atop one of his three bookshelves. Years had passed since that moment in the dungeons, and now both of them were eighteen. She was sprawled on his bed with a quill tucked behind her ear and a book laid open before her. "There's a tourney in Highever in a week," he said.

"A shame we will not be able to attend," said Antonia. "I would go, if only to see my brother and father joust."

"If I had never been a mage, I likely would have been a knight, or at the very least a squire," said Alexander. "Before I was compelled into coming to the Circle, there was talk of me being squired to Teyrn Cousland himself. Then the Templars came, and now I'm here."

"You were a lord's son," said Antonia. "My father sent me to the Circle immediately. He wanted nothing to do with me after the Templars informed him what I was. I remember how angry your father was when you volunteered to go to the Circle. You had an army at your command, and yet you still went willingly. Why didn't you just seize the opportunity?"

"If I had, it would have caused an even greater constitutional crisis in the country," said Alexander. "The Templars are still paying my father tribute for invading his lands and attempting to 'kidnap' the sitting lord. Most lords in Ferelden don't like having their authority challenged by the sword. They understood my father's fury when he returned to a Templar army pillaging his villages and attacking his son. But if I had resisted, all it would have accomplished was to kill more of my people and sour Silverclaw's reputation in the Bannorn. And I had no teacher there, for my magic. I would have had to go eventually."

"The Libertarians think you're a fool for submitting yourself," said Antonia. "And with such pomp, too! I still remember the horns howling in the dawn and the wolf-and-laurel banners held aloft by your guards in the rising sun, as you and your caravan marched across the bridge and met with the Knight-Commander."

"I had refused to come to the Circle as a prisoner, with a Templar blade at my throat and shackles binding my hands," said Alexander. "It was entirely for show, of course, but it helped my father save face."

"What about the army?" Antonia asked. "Wasn't there still a Templar force on your lands when you were taken?"

"It was destroyed," said Alexander. "My father gathered up an army of his knights and freehold men-at-arms and smashed their army outside of Winterport. He then had nine of every ten survivors blinded. The tenth man was to lead them back to Kinloch Hold. The Grand Cleric had a heart attack when she saw them."

"Why didn't the Templars execute you in retaliation?" Antonia asked. "Or, at least, make you Tranquil?"

"They were unpopular as it was," said Alexander. "My father was enraged, but he was clever. He portrayed himself as an angry father whose son had been threatened at sword-point and taken against his will. He portrayed himself as an enraged lord whose lands were being encroached and whose people were suffering. The banns supported him, because they thought similarly. And if they had abused me too much, there would be no stopping him."  
"What do you mean?"

"He's one of the toughest soldiers in the realm," said Alexander. "During the Fereldan Rebellion, he launched a counter-invasion of Orlais and managed to torch the city of Jader to the ground. Doing so probably shaved five years off of the war, as Orlais was already in a bad state and at war with Nevarra. The Chantry's a little afraid of him, I think – or the Chantry as it exists in Ferelden. I don't think he could overcome the entire church. He's good to his people, and he was a great father, but once he is driven to anger, his fury is like an avalanche. He won't stop until his enemies are destroyed or encounters a force steadfast enough to halt him."

"The Teyrn approves of that?" Antonia asked.

"The Teyrn is probably very grateful he has my father," said Alexander. "The Couslands did not build a teyrnir from kind words and gestures of generosity alone. When times are tough and enemies are everywhere, having loyal and tough friends is the difference between survival and ruin. The Teyrn was not pleased with the Templars, as my father's lands were also his lands by default. Abusing villagers would not endear them to a man like Bryce Cousland. My father, though, he would take on the entire Chantry, the entire Templar order, and dismantle them piece by piece until their existence was but a memory, if they angered him sufficiently and if he was able. As for the Circle, if there was a chance of his son being liberated and breathing the free air, he would do the same to it; in a heartbeat, he would."

"He sounds wonderful," said Antonia wistfully, and Alexander knew she was fantasizing about her own parents riding at the head of an army to free her from Chantry control. "But he seems so angry all the time…"

"There was much to be angry about, but he was not always so ruthless," said Alexander. "He once told me that, as a lord, there would be times when he would be forced to do things he would ordinarily find appalling, but had to do because they were necessary, because they were done on behalf of his country and his people. He told me he found no pleasure in burning Jader, but doing so meant the eastern defenses of Orlais collapsed and the Emperor was forced to rescind all support to King Meghren.

"Everyone had their part to play in that war. If Loghain Mac Tir had not defeated the legions at River Dane, my father's actions would be pyrrhic at best, and Ferelden likely would still be under the control of Val Royeaux. Had my father not knocked the Orlesian reserves out of the war, Teyrn Loghain may have had to fight legion after legion with his depleted army.

"My father was an effective leader," said Alexander. "His loyalty to his Teyrn and King never wavered. And at home, he was a benevolent father. All seven of us used to go to him with our troubles, with our fears, with our successes, and he would always have a story to tell us while we were huddled around him by the fire, or sweets tucked away in his pocket. He doted on my sister Rose, especially. But his vassals and knights loved him because he took everything personally. The first thing I remember him telling me was that _everything_ was personal. Every slight, every defeat, every victory, every oath of allegiance, every betrayal, every piece of shit served up by the scum of our society – it was all personal. That's what made him great, and that's what made the Couslands great, too. That's what made others drawn to him, as though he were larger than life. So, yes, he was quick to anger. But he was never a vindictive or capricious man."

He shifted from his perch and swung his legs around so that they were dangling from the edge of the bookshelf. "So, do you know anything about knights and tournaments?"

"Alex, darling, we live in a mage tower," said Antonia. "My father's a knight and carried around a huge lance. That's about as far as I know about the life of a knight."

"Well, there'll be a jousting competition, a dueling competition, and an archery contest," said Alexander. "And it's Alexander, _darling_, not 'Alex,'"

Antonia laughed at this and sat up. She walked over to a nearby stool and straddled it. "Oh, yes, I'm _Ser Alexander Maron_, knight of Ferelden! All my foes will fall before me in defeat and all the ladies of the realm will desire my hand in marriage!"

Alexander smiled. "Why bother with the ladies of the realm when I have a perfectly good one at my side? Though I doubt you'd be considered much of a lady, at least by them…"

"Oh, what _will_ my poor father say?" said Antonia, and the Fereldan highland lilt in her voice was apparent. "His daughter, his only daughter, in love with a _mage_. Now she's never marry a strapping knight or a perfumed lord. Whatever will my family _do. _Oh, Maker, how I've dishonored them!"

Alexander laughed and jumped from his perch at the top of the bookshelf. He leaned over to Antonia, who was still sitting on the chair, and kissed her. "And I were to be mage, strapping knight, and nobleman, what would your father say?"

"He would probably still hate you for being a man who is romancing his daughter, should he deign to recognize me as such," said Antonia. "But you do have the strapping part down. Now you just have to get a lord to decree that everyone call you 'Ser' – which will never happen."

"It might happen sooner than you think," said Alexander. "At each tournament, mages are often present to entertain nobles."

"Like jesters?" Antonia asked with an eyebrow arched.

"Jesters can't make sparks fly from their fingertips or shoot out jets of flame," said Alexander. "We could ask the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter if we could go…"

"They would never allow us," said Antonia.

"We would need a Templar escort, of course, but if we convince them that we would not cause trouble, we would be able to go. I've also, in the event that they refuse us, written ahead to my father. In order to whet Greagoir's appetite, I'll convince my father to reduce the toll on Chantry caravans entering Highever."

"Would your father ever consent to that?" Antonia asked. "He seems like he would be too fierce to agree to something like that."

"You would think so, right," said Alexander. He leaned over and grabbed a sheaf of paper from his shelf. "I have already written my father. He drafted a new agreement to reduce the fare for crossing into Highever by ten percent. I wrote my letter under the pretense of Greagoir having demanded a twenty percent reduction."

"What is your father using this gold for?" Antonia asked.

"He's not pocketing it, if that's the implication," said Alexander. "He's been using it to renovate the alienage and the slums in Highever. That city having the cleanest and happiest elf community of Ferelden didn't happen from nothing."

"I do like the irony of helping the elves by extorting the very people who put them into a state of bondage in the first place," said Antonia.

Alexander laughed. "It's quite fitting, isn't it? My father is very fond of irony; he's sees a lot of beauty in giving people their just desserts in a creative fashion. Anyway, I'll get us an escort out of here. And once we're there, we can finally enjoy ourselves for once."

"I'd very much like that," said Antonia, drawing close for another kiss.

Alexander obliged, giving her a soft peck on the lips. "Come on, we'll have to speak with the Knight-Commander."

He stood up and offered her his hand, and together they left the enchanters' quarters for the main hall.


	3. Chapter III

_**Chapter III: Lyrium Deals and Dwarven Kings**_

"Yes, ser, the lyrium from Orzammar has arrived, but the price is climbing by the day," said Knight-Captain Hadley to Knight-Commander Greagoir. "The dwarves have again fallen into a state of turmoil. Aeducan Thaig has fallen, and all of its remaining lyrium mines with it. The lyrium guilds have raised the price of their product to sixty-three sovereigns per crate."

"They're raising the price because they know they have no competition and only one authorized buyer," said the Knight-Commander. "And with the Higheverians exacting huge tolls on our caravans traveling north, we're fast losing money."

"William Maron has not consented to lower the tolls?" Hadley asked. "We could take his son hostage, to force his hand."

"You don't know the Bann of Silverclaw very well if you think threatening his children will stay his hand," said Greagoir. "The First Enchanter and I fought alongside him during the rebellion. He is a terrifying man who does not suffer threats to his family or people lightly. I attempted to go around him and appeal directly to the Teyrn, but Lord Bryce is of one mind with his cousin. They are both still sour, after what Knight-Commander Bramford attempted to do."

"I heard Lord Maron blinded Templars as punishment for pillaging his lands," said Hadley.

"He did indeed," said Greagoir. "The next time you speak to Ser Otto in Denerim, ask him about being part of that army I sent to the north. I was more impulsive then. I thought browbeating the damned Marons would be enough. I should have commanded that army myself. We would have gone straight to Silverclaw and collected young Alexander, instead of needlessly pillaging and raping our way through three villages. Bramford's conduct was shameful in the eyes of the Maker and all good men, and his actions cost us much support. Now we're stuck paying tribute and high tolls to Highever for our crimes. The worst part is that, despite the Bann of Silverclaw being a constant thorn in my side, his son is quite likeable. It's so much harder to hate the Old Wolf of Silverclaw when the pup is so different."

"He's an intelligent young man," said Hadley. "He received full marks in all his examinations as an apprentice, Wynne's evaluation of him was extremely positive, and he is quite often courteous with members of our order. But he and Mother Miriam have had an acrimonious relationship. I believe she has subjected him to five whippings."

"Generally, it is for defending someone against her abuse," said Greagoir. "Miriam may be consistent in her punishment, but her harshness has brought the mages' ire to my doorstep, and not without reason. If only the Grand Cleric would censure her, remove her and replace her with Sister Alana. Now I have to contend with Senior Enchanter Uldred as well as Irving. Anyway, with the reduced lyrium, we will have to halt Harrowing examinations until our supply can be replenished."

"We could make more of the apprentices Tranquil," said Hadley. "The enchanted wares they sell could bring gold back into our coffers, and Maker knows we'll need it."

"I don't want to make perfectly good apprentices Tranquil," said Greagoir. "The situation is precarious. If Irving knew that I was sundering the minds of his apprentices for such mundane reasons…no, we must make do by other means."

"Have you heard the reports of a dwarven army wandering the lands of Orlais and southern Ferelden?" Hadley asked. "They are less than two hundred in number, but they are led by a man who calls himself Gadrin Varen, the descendant of the last king of Varen Thaig."

"Varen Thaig has been lost to the dwarves for centuries," Greagoir said. "Their people were accepted by neither Orzammar nor Kal-Sharok. They became a nomadic people wandering the surface lands, singing laments of their long-forgotten homeland, the kingdom under the earth."

"He is apparently attending the Tourney at Highever in the coming weeks," said Hadley. "He and Lord William Maron joined forces during Highever's invasion of Orlais. There are legends of him facing down a hundred chevaliers alone and winning."

"How legends grow!" said Greagoir. "It was closer to thirty, which is still no mean feat. Perhaps we could make a deal with William Maron and Gadrin Varen. Varen Thaig is located in the Korcari Wilds, though the last known entrance is in South Reach. If we finance an expedition alongside the men of Highever and Silverclaw to retake the Thaig, I will license William Maron's miners to mine lyrium and undercut the Orzammar guilds."

"King Endrin will not find that to be acceptable," said Hadley. "Reclaiming the thaig is the tough part. It was lost during the First Blight. The darkspawn will not vacate the caverns without considerable persuasion."

"Then William Maron is just the man to send," said Greagoir. "Luckily, his son is one of our mages and can convince him to assist us."

Someone was knocking at the door.

"Enter," said Greagoir.

The door opened, revealing enchanters Alexander Maron and Antonia Maitland. They were both dressed in their best robes. Antonia looked more nervous entering the Knight-Commander's office, for she had been disciplined more than Alexander ever needed to be, and her name did not carry the weight of a powerful lord, even though her father was a knight. Alexander looked as though he were in good spirits, and gave him a short bow, more a statement of gentlemanly conduct than any demonstration of true deference.

"Knight-Commander, if you are not busy, I was wondering if we could have a moment of your time," said Alexander.

"The Knight-Captain and I were discussing important business," said Knight-Commander. "However, you are involved in such business, and therefore your presence is acceptable. Come in and take a seat."

Alexander and Antonia both entered the office and sat down before the Knight-Commander. "I was actually going to ask you whether the two of us could attend the tournament in Highever."

"That is an interesting request, indeed," said Greagoir. He steepled his fingers and peered over them at the young mages. "What would two young, newly instated mages need to attend a tourney so badly for? You are a talented lancer, Maron, but I doubt you intend to tilt against experienced knights. And you, Antonia, are a healer, not a warrior."

"Aye, that is all true," said Antonia. "But even if I am simply a healer, Alexander wishes to attend and I intend to accompany him."

"It's my father's tourney, Knight-Commander," said Alexander. "It would improve your reputation in Highever if you allowed me to attend, and it would repair the acrimonious relationship between the Templars and my father."

"One visit to the outside world would wash away a decade of animosity?" Greagoir scoffed. "Surely you can't be that naïve, boy."

"My father loves his children more than his gold and silver, and the Templars robbed him of his firstborn," said Alexander. "You and he fought together during the rebellion. After all that's happened since, I doubt you will ever again become friends, but you don't have to be enemies."

Greagoir glanced at Hadley and then looked back at Alexander. "As it so happens, I have a job for you. Currently, lyrium prices are at an all-time high due to turmoil in Orzammar. Gadrin Varen, the wandering king of the lost land of Varen Thaig, has returned to Ferelden and will be attending the tourney. The colony was lost to the dwarves in the First Blight, but we think it may have lyrium deposits. I want you to write to your father explaining our plan: if Highever and Silverclaw provide the men, we will finance an expedition into Varen Thaig to reclaim the halls and the lyrium within. Your father will then be licensed on behalf of the Chantry to begin mining the lyrium."

"You're trying to undercut the dwarves," said Alexander. He leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin pensively. "Yes, lyrium is an expensive commodity, indeed – sixty-three sovereigns, eleven silvers, and twenty seven coppers per barrel, last I checked – and the dwarves have a monopoly on its extraction, refinement, and distribution. You want to break that monopoly and so you want my father to contribute his men and resources towards your dirty work."

"You could say that," said Knight-Captain Hadley.

"Put more tactfully, I think we can come to an arrangement that is mutually beneficial," said Greagoir. "Your father stands to become fabulously wealthy if he stakes a claim in Varen Thaig. By selling at even eighty percent the price that the Orzammar guilds charge, he stands to make a tremendous profit. So, write your father –"

"—ah, no, Knight-Commander, if you want me to do this, you're going to have to allow me to speak to him in person, like he wants, as a sign of good faith," said Alexander. "He won't agree to it via letter. He'll assume it to be forged, or that I was coerced into writing it, as a matter of principle."

"He can make the journey here, then," said Greagoir.

"And he will refuse to," said Alexander. "Walking into a Templar stronghold means the Templars can hold him hostage and force him to rescind the trade restrictions placed on the Order."

"While I find the tolls placed on my caravans to be irritating and disrespectful, I had no intention of doing anything of the sort," said Greagoir.

"That's not how banns think," said Alexander. "Your men already violated the guest right before. He has no guarantee that you will not attempt to take him. For noblemen, a visit to an unfamiliar castle can mean a night in a dungeon with a letter of ransom sent to the lady, if their hosts have reputations of dubious honor. At worst, it can mean a sword in the back."

"A Templar escort would not necessarily be unwelcome," said Antonia. "We understand that you are apprehensive about sending two newly promoted mages out of the Tower, especially Alexander. It's not our intention to escape, Knight-Commander, but he does know his father best. If you wish to move forward with your plan, then perhaps having Alexander inform of the details in person would be best."

Greagoir thought over the details, his mind moving quickly as he peered at Alexander over his fingers. "If I permit you to leave the Tower for Highever, I expect you to return immediately after the plans have been finalized. If you attempt to escape, then I will journey north personally with an army to retrieve you, and your father will get a taste of real battle. I expect he's out of practice, having been limited to harassing the imbeciles Miriam sends in my place."

"I am sure you and he would have a battle worthy of being written in the histories and sung by bards," said Alexander. "I regret to say that I will have to deprive the two of you of such a glorious showdown, and consent to return after the tourney, as requested, unless events beyond my control delay me."

"Then I will bury my disappointment and make the preparations for your departure," said Greagoir. "You will depart on the morrow. Knight-Corporal Frederick Carroll will be your guard in Highever. You are not to leave his sight."

"Not too difficult," said Alexander. "Anything else?"

"Nothing further," said Greagoir. "You two may go and pack your things. Goodbye."

The two mages rose to their feet and left the office. When the door closed behind them, Greagoir turned to Hadley. "I want you to write a letter to Knight-Commander Alaric Kennard in Highever. Tell him to prepare a company of three hundred men. His standing orders are to set patrols in the countryside in case Alexander Maron attempts to escape."

"Three hundred men seems excessive for such an assignment, but perhaps that is needed to persuade the people of that land that sheltering Alexander would be inadvisable," said Hadley. "Do you have any secondary orders for them?"

"Once an agreement is finalized with Lord William Maron, they are to gather. They will form the force that I will contribute to the expedition."

"That would leave Highever unattended, ser," said Hadley. "Maleficarum and other enemies of the Chantry would slip through."

"Knight-Commander Jerome Tavish of Denerim will also take up the Highever command," said Greagoir. "He is a man whose loyalties to this order have never been questioned. Knight-Commander Alaric has been in Lord Maron's pocket for the past twenty years."

"Very well, I will make the arrangements," said Hadley.

OOOOO

The next hours were spent packing their bags. Alexander packed three sets of his best robes, but otherwise endeavored to dress as though he was not a mage. Therefore, he packed shirts, trousers, tunics, and doublets, as well as his warmest cloak, for it was late winter and quite cold in the north, where the proximity to the Waking Sea brought storms and freezing gales. He put on a tunic with a stiffer collar bearing the wolf sigil of his noble house and fastened a great cloak of wool and fur around him, clasped with a brooch shaped like a pair of crossed, golden laurel branches, the symbol of House Cousland, his father's sworn overlords.

Antonia had joined him in the main hall of the Circle Tower, her bags packed. She was wearing similar garb, echewing the silken robes and dresses of mage women for trousers, a tunic, and a billowy white chemise. Her staff was packed away with her clothes, and instead a small dagger hung at her left hip. Her fiery hair was tied into a thick braid running down her back. She looked back at him and beamed when he approached.

"You look nice when you're not in robes," said Alexander quietly as he approached her. They were careful not to be overly affectionate in public, even if it was a secret to no one that they were lovers. The sisters of the Tower chantry were notoriously prudish, and Alexander was always wary of the possibility of Templars using personal ties for leverage.

"Shh, not here," said Antonia, softly laughing. "It looks like the mages have congregated to see us off," she added, pointing out the First Enchanter Irving, and the Senior Enchanters. Wynne was there as well, and Torrin, the other Aequitarian among the senior mages. Alexander set his bags down and approached them to bid them farewell.

"I expect to see you back here, soon, young man," said Wynne. "You might be the son of a lord, but you are still a mage, and the Circle will need you back to teach. Only a month as an enchanter and you're already leaving the tower, and I hope it will not be the last time."

Alexander gave her a warm smile. "I'm only going to a tourney. Once I've had my fill of the good wine and the jousting, I will be back."

"I'm sure Carroll will be having a grand time, as well," said Antonia. "Shall we be off?"

"Just a moment," said Alexander. He walked over to First Enchanter Irving. He was standing with his apprentice, a sixteen year-old human girl named Solona Amell. He shook Irving's hand. "Well, First Enchanter, I'm off to Highever."

"Give your father and the teyrn my regards, if you would, Alexander," said Irving. "He and I fought together during the Rebellion, and though he may disagree with the Knight-Commander on many issues, be sure that he knows that the Magi will always value his friendship."

"He knows, but I will pass on your message," said Alexander. "For now, farewell."

Alexander took Antonia's hand and the two of them walked through the main hall. The Templar guards were there to wrench the doors open, letting the warm glow of the setting sun pour in. Suddenly, the main hall, once cast in a wintery sheen of pale blue darkness was illuminated. For some, it was as if they had gazed upon the outside world for the first time in their lives. For Alexander, it was the start of an adventure.


	4. Chapter IV

_**Chapter IV: A Knight at the Tavern**_

The teyrnir of Highever occupied most of the northern coast of the kingdom of Ferelden and extended into the Fereldan Valley, claiming much of the northern Bannorn. It was a land of teeming forests and fertile farmland to the south and rich mines to the north and west. Highever itself was a walled city in the north, built upon five hills overlooking the Waking Sea. With the gold pouring in from prosperous freehold landowners and vassal lords, the city was the capital of the most prosperous region of Ferelden, and it looked the part. Its stone walls were well-maintained and thick enough for eight men to walk across comfortably, standing side by side, and they were built of white stone which gleamed in the moonlight. At the center was Castle Cousland, the citadel around which the city had grown.

To Highever's immediate west was the bannorn of Winterport, ruled from the eponymous port town. Contrary to the name, the countryside around the town was, in fact, quite green, and suffered only a light frost during the winter months. On the contrary, during the coldest months of winter, it was one of the busiest in Ferelden, after Gwaren was choked with ice, and the seas around Amaranthine and Denerim became too tempestuous for all, but the hardiest of sailors. Winterport was ruled by the Reyne family. During the Orlesian invasion, Bann Cormac Reyne was the lord, but he was killed during the Battle of Ashcrown, when ten thousand Orlesian men-at-arms were defeated and forever denied entry into the teyrnir. His only surviving daughter, Eleanor, Lady of Winterport, married Bryce Cousland, who became teyrn after his father Callum died of illness.

Even further west of Winterport was the town of Silverclaw. As its name suggested, Silverclaw was home to mines, mainly of silver and gold, but also of copper and iron. Consequently, the bannorn was known for its incredible wealth. The town was built around a rock spire overlooking the Waking Sea. The castle, the Argent Keep, stood at the top of the rock, overlooking the sea and providing a lookout point onto the countryside. It was considered one of the most defensible towns in the kingdom, as the approach by land was heavily fortified. No army had ever taken the fortress. The only time its banners were dipped was when the ruling bann recognized Calenhad as his king. Silverclaw's ruling house was House Maron, Alexander's family, considered the second family of Highever. The wife of Bann Edwin Maron had been Cecilia Cousland, Teyrn Bryce Cousland's aunt, which made the Marons and Couslands cousins, and Bann William fourth in line for the title of teyrn.

South from Silverclaw were the smaller bannorns of Harlow and Danebridge, both of which were known primarily for their farming, and were ruled by two branches of House Harron, an old, but poor family that had seen better days. Harlow, in particular, was a downtrodden old village with houses of thatched straw and wood. The center of town was not the lord's castle, but the local inn, the Black Boar. That night, the innkeeper did a roaring trade. A group of knights from Redcliffe had journeyed north for the tourney at Highever, and had decided to stop in Harlow for the night. Three men from Honnleath, a village southwest of the Guerrins' castle, had also made the trip, and they were gathered at the bar when Alexander, Antonia, and Ser Frederick Carroll entered the tavern.

"Ah, good old Harlow," said Alexander. "You should try the beer here, Freddie, the brewers in Danebridge, across the marsh, are the best in the Coastlands."

"I probably shouldn't drink anything," said Carroll.

"Nonsense, I'm buying you a goddamned drink, old boy," said Alexander. "You've spent far too much time guzzling lyrium. We need to find you a woman as well."

"I trust you won't be searching for another of your own?" Antonia asked him, her brow arched.

"I have the best woman in all of Highever, love," said Alexander, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I've no need and no desire for another. But poor Carroll here hasn't seen a woman who wasn't in a Chanter's habit. Even the Maker found himself a comely lass, old boy. You need to find yourself one as well!"

"Uh, um, very well, then, I shall try some of the ale," said Carroll.

"We'll have three ales!" Alexander exclaimed, setting aside forty silver on the bar table while the barmaid, a curvy blonde, poured the drinks out of the casks behind her. Next to her was a small, mousy looking man, another bartender.

Meanwhile, the knights of Redcliffe were raising their glasses. "To Ser Osric Halveyle, Knight of Redcliffe!" they exclaimed. Ser Osric Halveyle was a bear of a man, standing over seven feet tall in the Fereldan reckoning. Even Antonia and Alexander, who were six feet and six feet and two inches tall, respectively, would have had to crane their necks to look up at him. He was dressed in a shirt of mail with vambraces, spaulders, and pauldrons of steel. Over the mail was a surcoat with the emblem of Redcliffe on it, a gray tower atop a red hill, set against an argent escutcheon and a black field. A large beard covered the lower half of his face, and his blond hair had grown long.

"I'd wager he'd do well at the tournament," said Antonia, nodding towards him as she sipped her ale. Alexander looked up the gigantic knight.

"He was one of the knights who besieged Denerim," said Alexander. "My dad told me about him. When the towers were at the walls, he was the first one out, wielding a flaming sword."

"Was it enchanted?" Antonia asked.

"I doubt it," said Alexander. "A lot of knights used to coat their swords with oil and set them on fire before going into battle. It scared the Orlesian lords senseless. Especially when it was Ser Osric running onto the wall, all of seven feet and more, with a battle axe larger than many people."

"One wonders how the Orlesians ever thought they stood a chance," said Antonia. "So, where are we headed after this?"

"Ashcrown," said Alexander. "Templars hate that place. It's filled with Tevinter refugees from the Third Purge."

"The Third Purge?" Antonia asked.

"My mother's father was named Senator Lucius Marius Deverus. He had a son, named Titus, and three daughters, Maria Prima, Maria Secunda, and Maria Tertia. Prima and Tertia died during the Purge. Secunda, called Helena for her beauty, escaped with her brother. My uncle led a navy of forty ships from Antiva to Ferelden, and broke a blockade of Highever's harbor. In gratitude, the teyrn granted them the land of Ashcrown, a bannorn east of here, to settle."

"The locals have no trouble being ruled by a magister?" Antonia asked.

"My uncle's not a magister," said Alexander. "None of my grandfather's children were. Magic only pops up rarely in the Deverus bloodline. The Archon used to mock him for it, calling him 'Weak-Blood.' Saving Highever made my mother's family properly ennobled here in Fereden and to secure the chests of Tevinter gold that her family brought with them, Bann Edwin Maron, my other grandfather, had my father and mother married."

"Is that how your father and mother met?" Antonia asked.

"She led a group of outriders in the army of Highever. With the reinforcements of Tevinter refugees, many of whom had been Imperial legionaries, the army of the coast pushed the chevaliers all the way back to the Feravel Plains, near Amaranthine, and made Highever a stronghold in the service of the King. By the time they were married, my father and mother had been lovers for a year. They met when she dragged him off the battlefield at White River, after the loyalist defeat. My father was leading a group of knights in covering Lord Bryce's retreat. His company was smashed and he would have been killed if she had not been there. After that, they never were apart."

"That sounds oddly romantic for your father, the breaker of Templars," said Antonia.

"He has it in him," said Alexander. "And he's more bark than bite."

The knights were becoming rowdier and Ser Osric grabbed one of the wenches as she passed by him. She fell into his lap, but looked quite nervous in his presence, which was understandable with any strange man, let alone one who was a burly knight encased in armor.

"Come here, bitch, the evening's still young and I haven't fucked anything yet!" roared Ser Osric.

"S-Ser, I don't think that would be p-proper," said the wench. "T-There's m-more people to serve. H-how about I g-get you 'nother ale after I'm done with me rounds?"

"You'll bend over, you filthy slut, and you'll do it willingly!" roared Ser Osric. He balled his fist and punched her in the face. "Hold her down and strip her. After I'm done with her, you'll all get your fair share of the spoils.

One of the Redcliffe knights grabbed a fistful of the wench's straw colored hair and tugged it upward so that she could hardly resist as another man tore off her dress, revealing a threadbare cotton slip. It was overturned, covering her face, as her naked body was revealed.

"Speaking of bark and bite, I think we have in our hands a rabid dog that needs to be put down," said Alexander. Antonia grabbed her staff and made to help the wench, but Alexander grabbed her fist. "Wait! Remember who we are and where we're sitting. Those men are knights, and they are armored. Leave this to me."

Alexander stood up, but as he strode over to the knights from Redcliffe, another man, closer to the young mage's age, rushed over with his sword drawn. He was wearing a leather jerkin with the Amaranthine bear embroidered on it. His hair was long, thick, and dark brown, which he wore long.

"Keep your hands off her, you rogue," he said.

The bar went completely silent. Carroll looked tipsy, as he had drunk his third frothing mug of ale, and he had hardly been able to hold his liquor before. Antonia saw this and wisely led him as far away from the brewing fight as she could.

"Are you going to stop me, young bear?" said Ser Osric. "Stand aside, you aren't in Amaranthine anymore."

"And you are not in Redcliffe," the young lord from Amaranthine refused to lower his blade. "If you continue to abuse that woman, you will pay for it."

Alexander stepped forward, the spell-casting end of his staff pointed at Ser Osric. "Eight on one is hardly sporting. You'll have to fight me as well, and unlike the young Amaranthiner lord, I am from Highever."

"You have the look of Silverclaw scum about you, boy," said Osric. "Good, I will enjoy sending Lord William your head after I'm done killing the both of you, and after I've had my fill of this fine young whore."

"Miss, I would advise that you run," said Alexander to the wench. "Take the entire rest of the day off, take a long bath, and find some decent clothes. Go on. They won't be following you."

The wench didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed the tattered heap of torn cloth that used to be her dress, and ran out of the tavern, but not before whispering a timid _thank you_ to the two young men before she left.

"Kill them!" shouted Ser Osric.

A knight lunged at Alexander. He dodged the knight's sword as he stabbed, and then stepped back, avoiding a horizontal slash. He used his staff as a spear, blocking the knight's sword and using the length of his weapon to keep him at a distance. The knight lunged again, and this time lost his footing. Alexander stepped toward him and knocked his sword away. He twirled his staff around and pointed the spell-casting point directly at his face. He fired a bolt of magic directly at the man's face, and the room was filled with pinkish mist as the bolt blew a hole in his face. He turned and stabbed another man-at-arms with his spear, through the neck.

The young man from Amaranthine sidestepped out of the way as a Redcliffe man-at-arms smashed through a table with a maul. He slashed under the man's arm, at the weak point in his armor, and then slashed through the crippled soldier's throat. He twirled around and speared another man through the neck with the point of his blade. He moved quickly around the room, dodging the slashes and stabs of the other Redcliffe men. He pushed one of them into a table and stabbed downward into another chink in his armor, but he was slowed dislodging his blade. Another one of them loomed over him, with his axe raised – and then his head exploded.

The young lord looked over and Alexander had his staff pointed at the Recliffer, having fired another spell. The mage gave him a quick nod before jumping out of the way. Ser Osric was brandishing a mace and sent it crashing into a table, which it smashed into splinters. Once again Alexander survived simply by keeping the hulking knight at a distance. While Ser Osric was quite tall, the spear point on Alexander's staff meant that he could not make a serious approach without risking impalement, and the mage proved too quick to be bludgeoned by his mace.

Alexander looked over at the young man from Amaranthine. He was surrounded by four of the remaining knights. With a flourish of his hands, he conjured a gravitic ring, a vortex of Force Magic where the affected objects gravitated towards a single epicenter. Put into practice, it knocked all of the men off them their feet and sent them tumbling around in a circle. The Amaranthine lord crawled away, leaving only his assailants in the area of effect.

Ser Osric made to attack Alexander again, but a large stone flew into his side. He was knocked into the air and sent clean through the back wall into an adjoining room. He had been knocked unconscious. Antonia was standing in the doorway, holding her staff aloft. Around her, bits of the wooden floor and the dirt underneath had been scraped away when she conjured the Stonefist spell.

"Your time, as usual, is impeccable, sweetheart," said Alexander.

"My pleasure, love," said Antonia. "But perhaps we should depart. The local authorities will not be pleased to see Redcliffe soldiers killed here."

Carroll appeared, walking out of the corner where Antonia had left. He was clearly drunk, but he had been whacked atop the head by the flat edge of a sword. There was a clearly visible, bleeding wound on his face. He immediately shouted, "These men tried to rape an innocent woman and assault a Templar! They attempted to murder a man of the faith!"

The regulars at the tavern, emerging from their hiding places, looked perplexed, as few saw the entire fight unfold, but the mention of an attempted assault on a Templar made their opinion of Ser Osric Halveyle sour noticeably. "Damned fool, I think the blow to the head's addled him more than the lyrium!" said Antonia.

"No, wait," said the young lord from Amaranthine. "That story will exonerate you. The two of you are mages. The Harrons will not appreciate soldiers and knights being assaulted in their land. I will vouch for you as best I can, but Ser Templar's testimony will give added weight."

"It is of no matter," said Alexander. "I am highborn and my father is of high station in Highever. Our words will be good enough. You handled yourself well in that fight. What is your name? You wear the sigil of the Howes of Amaranthine. Are you a knight of that land?"

"No," he said. "More than that, I'm afraid. I am Thomas Howe. Arl Rendon is my father. You handled yourself well, also, Messere…?"

"Maron, Alexander Maron," the mage replied. "I am the son of Bann William, of House Maron of Silverclaw. Some call me the Exiled Wolf. Others call me the Lord in Robes."

"My father has spoken often of your family, and not often with kind words, but I'd say you're all right, Lord Maron," said Thomas. "Thank you for helping me with these brigands."

He pointed to Antonia. "This is Antonia, also a mage, but born of House Maitland of Highever, daughter of Ser Angus and sister of Ser Roger."

"My compliments, Milady," said Thomas. He bent down and kissed her hand. "I have heard stories of the beauty of the ladies of Highever. You prove all of them true, Lady Antonia."

Antonia blushed. "You're too kind, Lord Thomas."

Alexander interrupted. "What brings you to Harlow, Lord Howe?"

"Please, Alexander, let's dispense with titles," he said. "Everyone at court uses them and surely two warriors of noble birth, mage or not, can speak to each other without such pretensions after having fought in battle together?"

"Very well, Thomas."

"I am here in Harlow because I regularly travel the Coastlands," he said.

"I do not see a retinue with you," said Alexander. "Or even a bodyguard."

"It is quite unusual for young lords to travel in the country without armed men guarding them," said Antonia.

"I can handle myself well enough," said Thomas.

"No arguments there," said Alexander. "Where are you headed?"

"Highever, actually," said Thomas. "My family is attending the tourney in honor of the teyrn. They've travelled ahead of me, but I prefer the scenic trail It is likely that my father has hurried ahead to arrange marriages for my sister Delilah and me, but there is much beauty in these lands that are missed by those on swift horses."

"We were headed to Highever, also," said Antonia. "Perhaps we could travel together."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," said Alexander. "What do you say? If you're not in a hurry, the extra company is always welcome."

Thomas looked back at where Ser Osric had been launched by Antonia's spell. The door had been thrown ajar, and the knight was just waking. "Thank you for the invitation. Where are you headed next?"

"Ashcrown, and then to Silverclaw and Highever," said Antonia. "We are actually on assignment for the Circle, but seeing as our Templar escort is currently drunk, we have been largely making our own way there as we see fit."

Thomas laughed. "Well, perhaps I will join you," he said. "Floyd," he said to the barman. "Do you think you can take care of the bodies?"

"I'll have them taken care of, Lord Howe, don't you worry," he replied.

"A friend of yours?" Alexander asked as they walked toward the fallen knight.

"Yeah, actually," said Thomas. "He was pressed into the service of my father's navy, many years ago. You're William Maron's son, so perhaps you've heard of the Alamarri rebellions?"

"Of course," said Alexander. "My father commanded the vanguard of the Higheverian army tasked with storming Alamar. What did that Floyd fellow do to be impressed into a galley crew?"

"He stole from our military reserve," said Thomas. "And it wasn't the kind of theft where a man has to steal simply to eat. He rode off with a wagon filled with twelve bags of grain. My father wanted to have his hands cut off, but as we needed sailors to fight the Alamarri, he was impressed into a crew instead."

"What convinced the Arl to, uh, show mercy?" Alexander asked.

"My older brother, Nathaniel, took a liking to him," said Thomas. "He served a year for every sack of grain he stole. After he left our fleet, he started working at this tavern. Anyway, there's the matter of this scum to decide. I say we kill him and be done with it."

Alexander looked down at Ser Osric. "That's probably a bad idea, as he is an anointed knight, but we can't simply let him go, at least not yet."

He walked up to Ser Osric and shook him awake. Osric looked up at Alexander and scowled. "What do you want, mage?"

"I desire nothing from you, Ser Osric," said Alexander. "I'm only here to educate you on the finer matters of politics in the Coastlands, though that is likely a losing proposition. You see, by attempting to kill the three of us, you made grave errors in judgment."

"Do all mages state the obvious?" Osric asked.

"Only for those who need it spelled out for them," said Alexander. "Now, the young lady with the red hair, the one who knocked you through a wall with her magic, she is the daughter of Ser Angus Maitland, one of Bryce Cousland's highest ranking knights. The young lord with the bear blazon is Thomas Howe. I'm sure you know Rendon Howe – he must have a terrible reputation in Redcliffe, where his rivalry with Arl Eamon Guerrin is the stuff of legend. You can only imagine his reaction when he hears that eight Redcliffe men tried to kill his son in a tavern. Why, Lord Rendon might even be so merciful as to take your life after he's down with you. And I'm sure our teyrn would be pleased that the son of one of his closest friends was nearly murdered in his realm."

"Teyrn Bryce has the soft heart of a woman," said Ser Osric, but the mention of Rendon Howe made his pupils contract, and his voice became less confident. "A ransom will be offered, my family will pay it, and I will go free."

"The punishment for rape in Highever is castration, Ser Osric," said Thomas. "Attempted rape will likely get you scourged, and your voice holds little weight in the north. Keep that in mind before you scoff at the idea of imprisonment. You will likely hope they take the tower with the stones after being walled up for a month in the dungeons."

"I haven't gotten to the best part," said Alexander.

"Oh dear," said Antonia.

"What?" Thomas asked her.

"This is the part where he starts threatening to sic his father on anyone who harms him," Antonia whispered. "It's surprisingly effective."

Alexander gave a short laugh and continued. "Now, we haven't been properly introduced. Hi, there. My name is Alexander. Now, when you saw me, you likely thought that I was just a mage, briefly unshackled by the Templars. My father might have been a blacksmith, my mother a seamstress, and I likely have three – yes, let's say three – younger siblings I've never seen. In short, I'm nobody to you."

"More or less, mage," said Ser Osric.

"Well, you'd be wrong," said Alexander. "You see, I am Alexander of House Maron. My father is Lord William of Silverclaw. So, it's interesting that you threatened to send him my head as a gift, because if you did, you would be running from his men for the rest of your life."

"Big words for the son of a bann," said Ser Osric. "I'm sworn to an arl. Your father won't be able to polish Arl Eamon's boots, let alone challenge him."

Alexander laughed. "It's interesting you say that. He won't need to. He's the teyrn's cousin and the field commander of the Higheverian army. Had you killed me, nay, had you attacked me, you would have been captured, disarmed, and taken back to Silverclaw, where you would have suffered a grueling death at my father's hands. You still might, in fact, should I inform him of your preferred hobby. The Templars once tried crossing him, too, confident that he wouldn't dare oppose the Chantry. He faced an army of Templars one thousand strong with two hundred men and crushed it. There were twenty survivors. He had the eyes of nineteen of them put out, and had the twentieth lead them back to Kinloch Hold. When the Grand Cleric learned what had happened and saw her men, she had a heart attack and died later that day. If you think you can do better than that, take a swing. By the time he's done with you, there won't be much left that can properly identify you as a man, let alone as a human."

"What are you going to do with him?" Thomas asked warily.

"Me?" Alexander asked. "I've already done all I can. Antonia, be a dear and confiscate the man's helmet, gauntlets, and sword."

"Of course," said Antonia. She took the weapon and pieces of armor and handed them to the bartender. "Perhaps this gear can be sold to a blacksmith or an armorer, to help pay for the damage we caused," she suggested to him.

"They will likely fetch a handsome price, but the sword I will keep," said Floyd. "One day, when I have children, they will know the story of how it was obtained.

Alexander's description of his father and the punishment Ser Osric would face at his father's hands had finally deflated him and destroyed any resistance he had to imprisonment. While Alexander was speaking, Osric's face began to sweat and his eyes narrowed. The door to the tavern opened and a sergeant dressed in a leather tabard bearing the teal-and-orange rose of House Harron of Harlow. Alexander had always thought that their sigil looked comically garish, and preferred the red-and-white rose of the branch of the family that ruled Danebridge.

"What's happened?" he called out. "In the name of Lord Peter Harron of Harlow, I am here to sort out this mess and if necessary bring the culprits to justice."

"That would be him," said Antonia, pointing to Ser Osric. "He attempted to rape one of the wenches here, and when she resisted and we attempted to stop him, he attacked us. We killed his companions when they joined in the attack, in self-defense."

"Lies, all of them!" said Ser Osric. "I am a knight of Redcliffe and these, these impudent brigands assaulted me to steal my coin and my belongings."

"We confiscated some of his gear to prevent him from attacking us again," said Alexander. "And you can check him; he remains in possession of his coin. Not that I would need _his_ coin, being the son of the marshal."

"You're Bann William Maron's son?" the Harlow sergeant asked.

"He is," said Thomas. "And I am the son of Arl Rendon Howe ."

"Shit," the sergeant muttered. "A Maron and a Howe attacked in Harlow. My lord won't like this, nor would the teyrn."

"Can we convince you to let us go?" Antonia asked.

"The mention of Howe and Maron is enough," said the sergeant. "The wolf and the bear, Bryce Cousland's personal attack dogs they are. No, you can go, but go quietly."

"Am I not going to be given a fair chance?" Ser Osric asked. "I am a knight, and I _demand_ to see your lord. These beasts will be strung up by their heels before dawn!"

"Did he do what he has been accused of?" the sergeant asked Floyd the barman.

"Yes ser, he did, Sergeant ser," said Floyd. "You can stay here and question everyone, if you'd like."

"Ask yourself whether you'd be given an acquittal if you committed the same crime," said Alexander.

"My lord would have my balls taken or send me off to fight darkspawn in the Deep Roads with those Grey Wardens," said the sergeant. "Go on, then. Take him. And Maker be merciful, we never see him in these lands again."

"We will need a pen to hold him," said Alexander.

"That can be arranged," said the sergeant. "In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your stay in Harlow, and give us no reason to regret our hospitality to you, as well."

OOOOO

The caravan kept moving. Thomas was riding a horse of his own, and the sergeant had provided Alexander and Antonia with two mares as payment for their help in arresting Ser Osric, though in truth they had done every last bit of the work. The sergeant, who they had learned was named "Erik," explained that they were bred for Peter Harron, but rejected as the lord wanted stallions only. Antonia had named her horse White Lady, while Alexander's mare, owing to its black coat, was named Knight Hunter.

"Did you have to make the horse's name a pun?" Thomas asked.

"Of course," said Alexander.

"He loves puns," said Antonia exasperatedly. "Still, it's a fitting name, considered what earned you the horse."

She pointed to the wagon, which had another cart attached to it bearing a pen with Ser Osric, who was currently curled asleep in a pile of hay. Carroll was given the thankless task of steering the wagon train while listening to Ser Osric's insults and profanities. Alexander would often specifically request Carroll as his Templar escort whenever he and his teacher, Wynne, left the tower precisely because he was harmless. Never a bright sort to begin with, he was already suffering the early onset of lyrium addiction-related illness. His mind grew increasingly blank by the day, and his behavior was more eccentric than most Templars, thus he was more pliable.

Ashcrown was the next town on the route to Highever, and like Alexander had described, its people were culturally Tevinter. The main building in the town was the lord's hall, a holdfast in the north of the town, a small keep surrounded by a single wall. The hall was built of stone and some marble, and the entryway was lined with stone columns.

The guard who escorted them into the city (and immediately became friendlier when he sighted the silver wolf sigil that Alexander was wearing) possessed the unwieldy and decidedly foreign name of Gallus Collatinus.

"You know, this is the only town in Ferelden where I've met fourteen different women named 'Julia Severa'," said Thomas. "These Tevinters weren't very imaginative, were they?"

"Not with names, no," said Alexander. "My mother and her two sisters were all named 'Maria' – they had to adopt nicknames to tell each other apart.

"Your name doesn't sound Fereldan," the young Howe commented. "Wouldn't a native-born Fereldan prefer the name Alistair, or perhaps Alec?"

"You're an observant one, Howe," said Alexander, impressed. "You're quite right. My mother is Tevinter. She led the people who settled this town, and her brother is the local lord. They were granted this fief by the teyrn for fighting for us during the rebellion. Anyway, not to worry, these people are for the most part good company."

"There's no slavery here?" Antonia asked. "They didn't even resist the idea of the practice being banned?"

"It's because they disliked slavery that they left the Imperium," said Alexander. "Some were slaves; others were members of the Imperial navy that mutinied with my grandfather. They started raiding slaving fleets on the high seas once they were no longer flying the Archon's banner. Orlais used to sell slaves in those days, too, and the Tevinters and the Fereldans became strange bedfellows."

"So, this bannorn is ruled by your mother's family?" Thomas asked.

"Yes, the Deverus family rules here," said Alexander. "The current lord is Marcus Deverus, my mother's cousin. Before him, his father, Faustus, ruled in Ashcrown."

"What is this bannorn known for?" Thomas said.

"Farming, for the most part," said Alexander. "Southern Highever is like the Bannorn, it's all very fertile. Ashcrown lies on the Imperial Highway, so it picks up a lot of the trade coming down from Highever, Silverclaw, and Winterport, and a bit from Snowborne. My mother came to Ferelden with a lot of Tevinter gold. The influx of coin into the bannorn made it much wealthier in the past thirty years. Before the rebellion, it was just a rain-soaked farming village."

And Ashcrown was anything but a simple village. The roads were paved with cobblestones, and shops lined the streets leading up to the lord's hall, Ash Manor. Much of what was being sold in these shops was limited to food – grains, greens, and fresh meats from the farms dotting the countryside – but there were also crafted goods and metal works such as armor and blades being sold as well.

"I always find it interesting blades are sold openly here in Highever," said Thomas.

"They are not in Amaranthine?" Antonia asked.

"Not often," said Thomas. "My father orders sword hunts, to quell the potential for uprisings. He believes it will make the populace easier to control and end the possibility for rebellion. I can understand why he thinks so. His early reign was one marked with turmoil. But the issue is one of many on which the two of us disagree. Not that it would matter, of course. I am not his heir."

"You're not?" Alexander asked.

"My brother Nathaniel is his elder son and heir," said Thomas. "I am merely a placeholder until the day he returns from being fostered in Kirkwall. The lack of such status has given my father reason to disregard my opinions."

Alexander had never considered what it would have been like to not be his father's firstborn. If he and his brothers Richard or James had switched places, would his father have cared so much if the young boy he was grooming to be his successor had not been a mage, but rather one of his younger sons, or one of his daughters?

His gut told him he would. His father loved his children, and likely would have done anything to make sure that they grew up well, even if he could not raise them himself. But, perhaps more negatively, he hated being outdone. He hated the Chantry, and he hated the Maker – he believed in the Maker, but he _hated_ Him, for daring to make his beloved firstborn a mage, for giving him a power he could not order away or change through sheer persistence. It rankled with him and he would not stop until he could have the last laugh. Until his mage firstborn son sat on the seat of his father and his father's father, as if to say to the Maker that for all his divine power, it was nothing in the face of a father's love for his son or a lord's demand that his will become reality. And if he went to the Void after death because of his slight against the Maker, he had once said to him, he would go there laughing because he knew that he died victorious against a god Himself.

"Your father is wrong to ignore your opinions," said Antonia, and her words shook Alexander out of his reverie.

"If telling the Arl of Amaranthine that he is wrong were such an easy task!" said Thomas, laughing. "I'm not too worried about it."

They had reached the lord's hall. Alexander, Antonia, and Thomas dismounted from their horses and Collatinus grabbed their reins.

"Gallus, we'll likely be staying here only a night before departing north," said Alexander. "Lord Marcus is expecting us."

"I'll deliver these horses to the stable and post a few guards to watch your prisoner," said Gallus.

The three of them walked up the stone steps and past the rows of columns. There was a single statue of a man in armor holding a blade-tipped staff aloft in a posture of defiance. His face was bearded, and though the entire creation was made of starkly white stone, Alexander was able to point out, "My grandfather, Lucius Marius Deverus."

"Who approaches?" asked the guard. "Court is currently in session."

"We are not here to interrupt, but rather to escape the early morning chill," said Alexander. "The Bann has been expecting me, I am Lord Marcus's nephew, Alexander."

"Really?" asked the guard. "Why the black hair, then, lad? Lord Marcus is a redhead, he is."

"Because, fool, I am William Maron's son, do you not see the wolf sigil? His reply was more irritable than he intended. He thought the comment, however, was quite inane. "Look, we're travelling a prisoner and on our way to Highever, and we're attending the tournament there in a week's time."

"Who's the prisoner?" the guard asked.

"A brigand we apprehended in Harlow," said Thomas. "Just be a good man and let us in."

The guard shook his head and wrenched the door open, bidding them forward. The interior of Ash Manor was dark and lit by candles. The few windows were high above floor, and let in a small amount of light, but generally were not enough to illuminate the entire room. Instead, the throne room was lit by the warm orange glow of candlelight, while black shadows kept everything in sharp contrast.

"Milord," said a freeholder. "The last winter was crushing to our village. Our blacksmith died of plague, as did our mason, and we have little left of the last harvest. Most of us take shelter in the chantry, but it's a crumbling mess. When it rains, it falls through the cracks in the roof, and when the rats come, they slip through holes in the walls…"

Lord Marcus was a man aged nearly forty. His hair was a darker shade of red than Antonia's, and he sported a thick, bristly beard. He wore a tunic made of fine cotton, colored brown and black, and it was emblazoned with the symbol of House Deverus, a white falcon. When he spoke, his accent was smooth, though somewhat of a higher pitch, and as he spoke, his steely blue eyes gazed at the freeholder. It had been ten years since Alexander had seen him.

"Normally, under the circumstances, freeholders are responsible for the upkeep of their own holdfasts and villages. But, owing to the circumstances, we can spare two stone masons and a carpenter to attend to your needs."

The freeholder bowed and left. Marcus looked at Alexander, and his face broke into a huge grin. "Alexander Maron," he said. "It's been far too long, old boy."

"It has," said Alexander, who returned his cousin's grin. "You're a bann, now. You've certainly moved up in the world."

"I suppose I have," Marcus rose from his seat and hugged him. "Your mother will be overjoyed. She was worried you might have failed your Harrowing."

"She thought I would fail?" Alexander asked, in a tone of exasperation and mock surprise. "Has she no confidence in me?"

"She was never a mage, and she only heard about it from your grandfather," said Marcus. He turned to his steward. "Adrius! Prepare the guest quarters at once! Family has arrived and will need lodgings! Will you be staying long?" he said, turning back to Alexander.

"A day, perhaps," said Alexander. "I'm actually on business for the Circle of Magi, and I will be attending the tourney in Highever."

"I've been preparing for it as well," said Lord Marcus. "My wife and son will be attending. Knights from all over Ferelden will be attending – Ser Braden Stone, Ser Harrow Hill, Ser Parris the Black, Wulfric of South Reach, that lady-knight from Gwaren – whatever her name was…uh, Carith?"

"Cauthrien," Antonia supplied.

"Yes, that was it, thank you," said Marcus. He glanced at Antonia. "Who are your friends, Alexander?"

"This is Antonia Maitland, daughter of Ser Angus Maitland," he said, introducing his girlfriend. "We, uh, studied together at Kinloch Hold."

"More than studied, I take it?" said Marcus, with a smile and a wink to his cousin that made him sigh and her blush.

"I was trying to be discrete," said Alexander. "And this," he said, gesturing to Thomas, "is Thomas Howe, son of –"

"—It's not often that Ash Manor hosts the kin of Lord Rendon Howe," said Lord Marcus, and his voice was more curt, the smile vanishing from his face. "I hope you find your stay here to your liking."

"I already am, my lord," said Thomas. "And thank you for your welcome."

Marcus turned to Alexander. "Is there anything else you need?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I must impose myself regarding a different matter," said Alexander. "We captured a knight attempting to rape a local tavern wench in Harlow. I'm bringing him back to Father, to face justice."

"My guardsmen will watch him," said Marcus. The smile returned. "But we can worry about that later. You probably want to freshen up after your journey. I'll have warm water sent up for a bath, and I'll see to it that some food is prepared. And it's good to have you back, even if it's only for a short while."

Alexander shook his cousin's hand and they parted ways. Marcus had to attend to other business while an elf maid led them to their rooms.

Alexander and Antonia were given a portion of the guest quarters to themselves. Then it was just the two of them, and Lord Marcus's elf servants had finished bringing their things. Alexander had chosen to wear a black tunic over a maroon shirt. Instead of slinging his staff about his shoulders, he unpacked a short sword and fastened it to his belt. He donned a silver necklace with a wolf's head pendant and entered the next room to find Antonia by a mirror, wearing a dress of Orlesian silk and brushing her long, thick red hair. The sun was shining behind her.

"You look beautiful," he said, walking behind her and kissing her softly on the neck.

She turned to face him and smiled. "And you look quite handsome," she said. Her eyes looked over him. "If I had looked upon you for the first time, I would never have thought you a mage," she admitted, and she was right. The luxurious leather tunic and maroon shirt, the polished boots and the trousers, and silver sigil pendant, practically washed away the image of the mage, as did the presence of a sword at his belt, instead of a staff in his hands.

Alexander gave her a roguish grin. "But this is _far _from the first time you've gazed upon me, isn't it?"

Antonia smiled back at him. "Far from it, my love."

"And having looked upon me, I look the part of a lord, right?" he asked.

"Of course, every bit a lord, and the heir of Silverclaw," said Antonia.

Alexander smiled again, and leaned in for a kiss, to which Antonia responded favorably.


	5. Chapter V

_**Chapter V: Ashcrown and the Northward Path**_

Luncheon at the table of Bann Marcus Deverus was a light affair. The lord himself was in good spirits, and eschewed the stiffness of proper precedent and address, insisting that Alexander, Antonia, and even Thomas, who he had been initially cold toward, call him "Marcus" instead of "Lord Deverus." Thomas himself seemed to take the initially aloofness in stride, and seemed more surprised that elves were treated better than most places in Ferelden. Indeed, Lord Marcus's personal squire was an elf, named Goren Pallas. His wife was a blonde woman of thirty-two named Gaia, another of the Tevinter refugees that had settled Ashcrown. Her father was of another knightly house of the bannorn, House Callidus, who owned Breakspear Hall, a freehold north of town. His son's name was Lucan, and he was a boy of seven. He was small, slim, possessed his father's red hair and blue eyes, and was just as energetic as he was.

"Alex, Alex! What's it like being a mage?" he asked.

Alexander laughed. "It's a life of sitting in a dark tower, surrounded by Templars, reading dusty old tomes until your hair goes gray and your skin becomes wrinkled."

"But what about the _spells_?" Lucan insisted. "Imagine being able to hurl _fireballs_!"

"I can do more than imagine," said Alexander. He held out his palm and then clenched his hands into a fist. Instantly, it was wreathed in flames hot enough for everyone at the table to feel the waves of heat radiating from it.

"Alexander," said Antonia disapprovingly. "Perhaps you could find it in yourself to not burn down the table while we are eating."

"I hope you would refrain from doing so while we are _not_ eating, as well, young man," said Gaia.

"Can anyone become a mage?" Lucan asked. "How long does it take? Are the Templars mean? Are the Chantry sisters nice? Does the First Enchanter have a big beard? Does the Knight-Commander have a big beard? Why don't you have a big beard or a beard at all? Do they let you swim in Lake Calenhad? Do you own a wizard's hat? What does lyrium taste like?"

"Don't pester your cousin, darling," said Gaia. "I'm sure they're quite tired from their journey."

"It's all right," said Antonia. "It's rare that anyone shows such enthusiasm at the thought of magic. We generally don't advertise that we're mages, although with the events of the past few days, it has been unavoidable."

Alexander turned to his cousin. "To answer your questions, for they are many, being a mage is more than simply throwing fireballs. It requires its practitioners to be disciplined and dedicated in honing their craft. When a child is thought to have magical talent, the Templars bring them to the Circle of Magi. They become apprentices, and live where the Circle is housed for the rest of their lives."

"How long have you lived at the Circle?" Lucan asked.

"Ten years," said Alexander. "It's not an enjoyable life, Lucan. You should count yourself lucky that you don't have to experience it. The ability to shoot fireballs is offset by much: the separation from my family, a life of complete imprisonment, and the loss of my rights as a nobleman, the rights every bann considers to be inviolable."

"Suddenly, being a mage doesn't sound like so much fun," said Lucan.

"You didn't need to put it so starkly," Antonia reproached.

"Yes, I did," said Alexander. "He asked me a question, and I don't lie to family. Lucan, to tell you the truth, the Templar Order is a mixed lot. For every reasonable man or woman of good character and knightly virtues, you will have one who is a blackguard, abusing mages out of religious intolerance, or out of a desire to dominate them. They do not look for good character when they choose Templar recruits, only religious devotion bordering on fanaticism, and the two are rarely synonymous. The Chantry is little better – for every reasonable woman of the cloth, there is a monstrous one. They are not there to be our friends. And the mages are hardly any better.

"Some turn to blood magic, evil powers that can ensnare the body and control the mind, but these rogues are usually dispatched and rare in number to start. Others are simply mean-spirited, apathetic, or so completely indoctrinated by the Chantry that they forget to give meaning and purpose to their lives and rights. These mages are not inherently evil, but spending years, perhaps decades in the same place with the same people in a state of imprisonment, persecution, and siege has left their friendships poisoned with paranoia and frustration.

"Mother Ruma at the Chantry says that mages consort with demons," said Lucan. "Is that true?"

Alexander looked at Antonia and took a sip of wine, choosing his words carefully. "The thing you have to remember, Lucan, is that mages are people, too, and are prone to all the flaws that follow people wherever they go. Saying that mages consort with demons is a generalization on par with saying all Tevinters are ruthless slavemasters, all Orlesians are fey and brainless, all Antivans are promiscuous assassins, all Rivainis are pirates, all Anders are nomadic steppe folk, and all Fereldans are dirty barbarians."

"So the Chantry lied to me?" Lucan asked.

"No, not entirely," said Marcus to his son. "What Mother Ruma said is true, to a point. There was a time when Thedas was in the hands of ruthless magisters, and there still exist groups of mages who use their gifts for evil purposes. But there are still good mages and no matter how toxic a society might be, there will be always be good people. That was the word of Andraste."

Thomas took a gulp of his soup. "Is this normal table conversation in Ashcrown? Talk of the nature of evil and Man's inhumanity to Man?"

Marcus laughed. "Not usually, no. But it's not often that we have mages supping with us, so it's natural that Lucan will be curious. Now, why are you heading to Highever?"

"To attend the tournament, of course," said Alexander.

"Alexander, you know I don't believe that," said Marcus. "The Templars wouldn't simply let a mage attend a tournament if there wasn't something for the Order to exploit, and I know the Knight-Commander. He despises tourneys."

Alexander finished eating his greens and set down his fork and knife. "Fine. If you want the full story, here it is: I'm journeying to Highever to negotiate a business deal between the bannorn of Silverclaw and the Templars of Kinloch Hold."

Marcus blinked. "A business deal?" he repeated aloud. He then burst into laughter, while his wife and son smiled at him nervously and Antonia looked on in confusion. "My dear boy, how did you fool the Templars into thinking this plan had any meat to it? Your father is currently extorting Templar caravans and depriving them of wagon loads of gold, what proposal could Greagoir possibly give that William would accept?"

Alexander sighed. "He wants to jointly sponsor an expedition into the Deep Roads. There's talk of untapped lyrium veins in the Deep Roads, veins unclaimed by Orzammar or Kal-Sharok."

"The Chantry has a monopoly on all lyrium sales and all of the supply goes through their doors first, why would they need another source?" Thomas asked. "Orzammar, to my knowledge, just found a freshly untapped node last year, one their miners estimate could last them for two hundred years."

"Yes, but apparently, Orzammar is in a state of turmoil – due to what, I have no idea," said Alexander. "I don't know the specifics of the matter, but the refined lyrium supply is running dry, which means the prices are going up. With my father in control of tolls for the North Road, the Templars are hemorrhaging gold every time they send caravans on the Imperial Highway to Highever, Amaranthine, and Denerim. Redcliffe is too diffuse for them to accrue large profits quickly, and Gwaren is too poor."

"The Templars need lyrium for everything they seek to do," said Antonia. "Without it, they become gravely ill owing to their addiction – some of them go completely insane. They also cannot make Magebane, the anti-magic substance used to ward off our powers."

"Why help them get their supply back?" Marcus asked.

"Well, without the lyrium, they can't do the Harrowing, remember?" Alexander said. "The Templars are already conservative about who they allow to take the test. It requires a bowl of the stuff, filled to the brim with the genuine, pure substance."

"So, you're saying that with the lyrium supply low, the Templars would make mages Tranquil simply to cut costs," said Gaia.

"Precisely," said Alexander. "It is a policy in the Free Marches, where frequent internecine strife can cut off trade routes for months. I don't want to see it established here."

"That explains your motive," said Thomas. "And I agree with your reasoning. No one should be turned into a half-wit because the Knight-Commander's purse is a little lighter. But why would your father agree to the plan? You've already taken your Harrowing, and your father could simply squeeze every last bit of gold out of them until they take you hostage – which would enrage the Bannorn and allow your father and the Teyrn to negotiate for additional concessions."

"It would enrage my father," said Alexander, correcting him. "The Bannorn would be mildly supportive of him simply because a portion relies on his money simply to remain solvent, and all of them know his reputation. Now, if the Templars actually harmed me, my father with the Teyrn's and the Bannorn's full support would have an army surrounding Kinloch Hold within a fortnight. It's only been twenty-seven years since Meghren was killed. The Chantry has to be careful not to appear as though they are foreign interlopers. They get enough grief from Loghain for being headquartered in Orlais."

"So why is your father going to agree to the plan?" Thomas asked.

"I'm not so sure he will," said Alexander. "Most lyrium wells are located in the ruins of dwarven thaigs, long ago claimed by hordes of darkspawn. Even if he was mildly interested in obtaining lyrium, mining it would be a nightmare. Firstly, there's the darkspawn. Five hundred men from Highever wouldn't be able to clear out an entire thaig, even with Templar support. At best, we would need twice that number to establish a foothold there, consolidate our holdings, reinforce our defenses, and reduce the inevitable darkspawn counterattack to a slow crawl."

"Can darkspawn think for themselves?" Antonia asked. "I suppose without an archdemon at their backs, they would be a mindless horde."

"A very large mindless horde," said Thomas. "Numbers will always overcome properly trained soldiers, if given enough time. The Maker's mill grinds slowly, but it grinds surely, Antonia."

"True enough," said Alexander. "Without a solid army at his back, a lord wouldn't be able to hold Varen Thaig for long."

"How did you convince Greagoir to allow you to make the journey?" Marcus asked.

"Alexander convinced him that the Bann would be unwilling to consider the arrangement if his son were not allowed out of the castle, as a sign of good will," said Antonia.

"I simply told him the best way to make my father most receptive to his idea. In any case, we're out for now," said Alexander. "What has been going on in the teyrnir?"

"Lord Cormac Reyne is ill, which means that Winterport will fall into the hands of the Couslands once he passes," said Marcus.

"It's that serious?" asked Alexander. "I remember Bann Cormac. He traveled to Silverclaw to congratulate my mother when my brothers were born. He was a good man, powerful and in fine spirits. When did his health deteriorate?"

"About five years ago," said Lord Marcus. "He came up ill after a stay at Bann Teagan Guerrin's estate in Rainesfere. Bad liver, they say. He used to love his wine and ale. The mage healer the Circle sent was able to alleviate some of the pain, and reduce his illness, but it always returns and each time he wastes away even further. It's a shame, but he is an old man and to survive so much speaks well of him."

"How will the Couslands inherit Winterport?" Thomas asked.

"The Teyrna Eleanor is Bann Cormac's eldest daughter by Lady Louisa," said Antonia. "He had four daughters: Eleanor, Pauline, Kendra, and Wilhelmina. Eleanor married Teyrn Bryce Cousland; Pauline died of cholera at when she was seventeen; Kendra married Ser James Donnelly; and Wilhelmina married Ser Henry Harron of Danebridge."

"Ser James Donnelly died three years after his wedding, leaving his wife childless," said Alexander. "Wilhelmina Harron had three children by Ser Henry, but none of them were included in Lord Cormac's will. The Bann disliked his son-in-law. So, that leaves the Teyrna and her children, Fergus and Elissa. If neither of them claims the bannorn, it would go to the closest relatives, my family."

"True, but with your father's controversial reputation with the Chantry, the Teyrn will likely raise one of his knightly houses to lordship," said Lord Marcus. "Perhaps the Carmichaels or the Gilmores – they are wealthy enough to keep freeholders if they so choose."

"Perhaps," said Alexander. "Is there any other news of note?"

"The second year of King Cailan's reign has begun," said Marcus. "Ordinarily, this would be met with joy, but the king has not inspired much enthusiasm in the Landsmeet."

Alexander glanced at Antonia, who looked as surprised as he did. "Why is that? We heard that his selection as king and coronation went off without a problem in the interim."

"Well, that would be untrue," said Thomas. "The entire North – the Waking Sea, the Coastlands, the Feravel Plains, and the Ursine Bay supported Bryce Cousland for king. In retrospect, it might have been a good idea, but we'll never know."

"Nor should we," said Marcus. "King Cailan is Maric's son, and they are of the Theirin bloodline of Calenhad the Great. To oust them for another family, even one as honorable and just as House Cousland, is unthinkable. King Cailan is where he should be: on the throne in Denerim."

"You are a Higheverian lord," said Alexander. "That's a strong position to take when supposedly most of Highever wanted Teyrn Cousland."

Marcus hesitated. "I did not actually vote until a clear majority was achieved. It saved me the trouble of having to provide a hostage for a Theirin lord's house. I did not want Lucan to be raised in South Rock, or Redcliffe, or Gwaren. So, once the Teyrn renounced any intention to pursue the throne, all of Highever threw its support behind Cailan, and so did I."

"What about houses that refused to support Cailan?" Antonia asked.

"Well, they had to deal with Bann William," said Marcus. "The old wolf brought one thousand men to Lowbarrow. They didn't support Bryce or Cailan for king, well after the Landsmeet, so William had his army surround the castle and starved it out until Bann Cornelius Lowan surrendered."

"Such an extreme response?" Antonia asked. "Was that necessary?"

"Ferelden has been struggling to rebuild," said Marcus. "Lords and knights were happy to ignore oaths of loyalty for Orlesian gold. Oaths matter in the North. The petty valley lords in the Bannorn might play their game of courting freeholders away from their rivals, but on the coasts, Cousland's word is law, Maron's steel makes sure it is heeded, and the land is watered by the blood of traitors. Such formalities were ignored prior to the invasion and half the Landsmeet gleefully betrayed King Vanedrin and King Brandel after him for sacks of coin, all provided by the Empe Scores of your ancestors died to defend against their treachery. It was disgusting. Now, the lords with positions of real responsibility in the land have made it their effort to impress upon the people that the oaths they swear to their lord, their king, and their country are binding until they have been released from them."

"Did my father support Teyrn Cousland?" Alexander asked.

"If Teyrn Cousland was elected king, he would have littered the Bannorn with the corpses of those who did not recognize Bryce as such. But Bryce recognized Cailan as king, and so that was enough for William to do so as well."

Marcus recognized the apprehension in Alexander's gaze, and so leaned forward and spoke with the tone of a reassuring uncle. "Your father is extreme, ruthless, and wrathful, but he genuinely believes the Couslands are the best hope for Ferelden. Lord Bryce is lucky to have such a lieutenant. There's no man in all of Ferelden more loyal than William Maron, except perhaps Loghain Mac Tir."

"I apologize; it occasionally takes some time to remember that the reality of rule rarely matches the storied fantasies that the Chantry tells us mages," said Alexander. "I am curious why this debate did not reach the ears of the mages."

"The Templars likely kept it a secret," said Antonia. "The Order is honor bound to support the Theirin family. It was Calenhad who brought the Chantry to Ferelden, who brought the Circle. When they arrived, they swore an oath to uphold and preserve his line, for his service to Andraste. Consequently, the Knight-Commander wanted to avoid a situation where the mages could flock to the banner of a rival claimant. Plus, they had already been shamed by Lord Maron in battle, and the Bann of Silverclaw is very popular in the Circle. If there was a chance to fight for him, all, but a few would swear fealty to him and to the Teyrn."

"It is odd that the Templars are so politically inclined in Ferelden," said Thomas. "My brother Nathaniel is being squired in Kirkwall. The Templars there only became involved in the local politics after the ouster of Viscount Perrin Threnhold, but elsewhere, their influence in government is either nil or assumed without necessary scheming."

"Ferelden's long history of collegial government worries the Templars," said Antonia. "It means, instead of keeping an eye on one king with absolute and uncontested power, they must be wary of claimants who would be beacons for the mages to rally around. A lack of absolute power means a lack of absolute loyalty, and from that a lack of certainty in the Templar Order's political standing in Ferelden."

"Also, Ferelden is a newer country in the Chantry's fold," said Alexander. "Orlais was a pre-existing kingdom when Divine Justinia I was anointed and the holy orders began there. King Calenhad did not unify this land until nearly 550 years later, and the introduction of Andraste's faith was met with lower levels of violence, which meant that it was introduced according to the vagaries of factional politics and retained a unique character. Plus, after the Orlesians were thrown out, the everyday Fereldan man or woman thought lesser of Orlesian orders, including the Chantry."

"When Maric regained his throne, there was talk of splitting the Fereldan Chantry from the one in Val Royeaux," said Marcus. "Teyrn Loghain was particularly insistent that the holy orders be expelled from the land, and divested of their properties. Maric decided against it. There were many Andrastians still in the country, and we were not yet strong enough to challenge Beatrix. Your father was fully in support of Loghain, until Maric said no."

The way Marcus described his father was more akin to describing a force of nature, ruthless and unyielding in its intent until the god which held province over its power bade it to abate its destruction or its creation. Perhaps he merely saw the best part of him, or suppressed the bad while feigning his acknowledgement of it. Perhaps his father had simply mellowed with age. Still, he mused that he shouldn't have been surprised, for he had cowed Templars, mages, and lay sisters alike with horror stories of his father crushing armies of Templars and chevaliers into blood and excrement. Such toughness had its negative side.

"You mentioned something about Kirkwall," said Alexander to Thomas. "Of the Free Marches, we generally receive news whose veracity is suspect. Last we heard, Viscount Threnhold was a respected, if not loved ruler who was ruling the city competently."

"He attempted to challenge the Templars," said Thomas.

"My father has killed scores of them, and he is still in power," Alexander shrugged. "It has to be more than that."

"Your father has the unwavering, fanatical support of his people," said Gaia. "Even with you being a mage, if he were to affirm your status as heir to the bannorn, every one of them would fight to the death to see to it that you ascend after your father, and your father answered that love by providing them with security, prosperity, and freedom in times of peace. I take it this Perrin Threnhold inspired no such devotion."

"He did not, my Lady," said Thomas. When the guards became corrupt, he turned a blind eye and ensured only that his social equals remained protected. The Templars did nothing. When there was famine, the people were starving, and the silos were empty, only the wealthiest noblemen ate even half their fill. The Templars, again, did nothing. The troops were defeated, their fishing fleets were raided by pirates, and city fell into disrepair. The Templars did nothing. And then Viscount Perrin came for the Templars. Then they acted. Knight-Captain Meredith Stannard commanded the vanguard during the attack on the keep. Perrin was captured and imprisoned by Grand Cleric Elthina. He died there two years later, poisoned by Chantry assassins, and had long since been replaced by Marlowe Dumar, a puppet of the Chantry."

"We all dance according to strings pulled by a greater master," said Marcus. "It must be shameful to dance steps to an Orlesian tune."

"Why did he move against the Templars?" Alexander asked. "This fellow sounds like a fool, but surely brute strength would have dissuaded him. He doesn't sound like he ever met enough success to become overconfident to suicidal extremes."

"The Chantry made the first move, oddly enough," said Thomas. "The Viscount used chains to close off the harbor and charge heavy tolls to those who wished passage or to do business in the city. Eventually, news of this reached Empress Celene, who used her connections with the Chantry to blockade the city's land routes with an army of Templars. Viscount Perrin tried to oust the Templars, but failed, even though he managed to kill Knight-Commander Guylian. Now, the ports of Kirkwall are kept open or closed at the behest of Orlais. It has been like this for seven years."

"And the Viscount is doubtlessly under the control of Meredith Stannard," said Alexander. "I've never heard of this woman. Is she highborn?"

"The Templars recruit peasant and noble alike," said Antonia. "More than likely she was the maid of minor Marcher nobility, or she was born of peasants and worked her way to the top. I suppose, with her control over the Viscount, the Free Marches have become a nightmare for mages."

"Perhaps, but if questioned, she would probably claim it were for the best interests of all that the noose around the Circle be tightened and that their shackles remain," said Thomas.

"All Templars claim they are merciless towards the mages to prevent a greater evil, but they are just as misguided," said Alexander. "A farmer might mean well by watering his crops, but when he undams a river and lets the seeds and topsoil wash away in the deluge, do his good intentions matter when his farm is barren and his family starves?"

Lucan looked confused. "No one answered _any _of my questions!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, right, sorry," said Alexander. "The First Enchanter has a magnificent silver beard inside of which you could hide sweets, gifts, and small animals. The Knight-Commander has a respectable beard of moderate length, but superior grooming. And alas, I do not have a beard because I am only eighteen years old, and both of those fine gentlemen have had decades of a head start. Lyrium tastes terrible, though I have never had the misfortune of taking a pure concoction. I do indeed have a wizard's hat, but I never wear it because it looks _ridiculous_. And several mages have attempted swimming in the lake, but I have never tried."

Lucan looked satisfied with his cousin's answers, leaving everyone else to finish their lunch, and resume the court's business.

OOOOO

The next morning, the caravan left again, this time with several of Lord Marcus's knights. Their captain was Ser Drusus of House Medicus, a knightly house from the village of Greenspear. Like all his knights, he was dressed in dark steel armor under a brown surcoat, which bore the white falcon of Ashcrown. He was not particularly handsome, with a long face and bleary hazel eyes, but his fierce beard and long brown hair distracted onlookers from such superficial flaws.

Carroll had slept in the servant's quarters, near the stables. He looked harried when they set out the next morning.

"The two of you abandoned me to the hounds last night!" he protested.

"We did not," said Alexander. "I offered you a room in the guest quarters, which you accepted. Of course, you forgot to drink your draught that evening and vomited all over the floor. You're lucky those elves offered you a bed with them, seeing as they will be spending the rest of today cleaning up that mess."

"Is he always like this?" Thomas asked uncertainly, glancing at Carroll.

"It's the lyrium," Antonia whispered, riding alongside atop White Lady. "Consuming enough of it will lead to a reduction of mental faculties. Speech becomes more difficult, muscle movement becomes spastic, and bodily functions become erratic. He's been quiet lately, but sometimes, he babbles on for hours."

"Don't whisper out the corner of your mouth like that prevents me from hearing," said Carroll. "I can see the spirit perched atop your shoulder, Maitland. I know your converse with spirits! I know you whisper to the Maker in the moonlight!"

"Quiet, you!" Alexander. "I apologize, Thomas. His behavioral aberrations are usually limited to loosing his bowels in the presence of a lord, but he has recently decided that raving declarations are more in vogue."

"How pleasant," said Thomas. "Don't raving Templars usually get sent to Val Royeaux?"

"They do, and he did," said Alexander. "The holy sisters at the Grand Cathedral sent him back. He was too much of an effort, even for them."

"So why is he your bodyguard?" asked Thomas.

"We were friends when we were younger," said Alexander. "He was a sharp fellow before the lyrium ate away his mind. It's a shame. We used to hunt maleficarum together back when I was an apprentice battlemage and he was a squire, but we were thirteen, and the years have not been kind to him. And he's our bodyguard because his mental illness makes it difficult for him to keep a tight rein on us," he said in an even quieter whisper. "My father made the arrangements."

Thomas nodded in acknowledgement. "So, I suppose we're off to Silverclaw now?"

Antonia nodded. "We're taking the path north, through the Elder Wood, that patch of forest there," she said, pointing to a line of trees where the path north from Ashcrown disappeared into the darkness. "It's difficult to go around. There are fens that stretch east into Faircrossing and Steadley."

Thomas nodded. "I've been there. Plus, the Brandts charge outrageous tolls for passage across their bridge."

Alexander unstrapped his lance from his horse's saddle. He was already dressed in heavy leather armor with steel shoulder and arm pieces. "We should stay on the lookout. The Elder Wood is patrolled by my father's watchmen, but there are bandits still."

The company began their march into the woods. To pass the time after twenty minutes of silence, Alexander said, "This forest is old. Some of these trees were planted before Ferelden had unified as a nation. It was already grown when Sarim Cousland became the first Bann of Highever. Have you ever heard the story of Flemeth, Thomas?"

"The Witch of the Wilds?"

"The same, but this was before then," said Alexander. "Long ago, when Ferelden was just a collection of bannorns feuding with each other under the shadow of the growing Orlesian Empire, the castle of Highever was ruled by Bann Conobar of House Elstan, a cadet branch of the Howe family of Amaranthine. He was a powerful lord, but cruel and hated by all. One day, he met a woman of unparalleled beauty, with an alabaster complexion and raven hair, in these woods, dancing in the grove. He was instantly smitten. He asked the young lady her name, and when prompted for his own, had forgotten it.

"'Flemeth is my name, Lord of Highever,' she said. 'These woods are my home. Why have you come here?'

"'I am the Bann of Highever,' said Conobar. 'I will not have squatters on my lands, and this wood is my hunting ground. If you have reason to be here, speak quickly or await my justice!' he roared."

The company continued their journey through the woods. The fields of Ashcrown disappeared behind a curtain of branches and leaves, and the only way through was forward. They could hear the birds chirping, the squirrels scurrying on the forest floor, and wolves howling in the distance.

Alexander continued the story. "Flemeth fell on her knees before the great lord. 'Bann Conobar, Lord of Highever, I have been wronged. Bann Robert of Silverclaw has scorned me. He has taken another woman into his bed.'"

"Bann Robert of House Maron was called 'The Reader' for his love of books and knowledge, and he was Conobar's rival," said Alexander. "He and Conobar had been childhood friends, and both had grown up together as wards of Arl Matthias Howe of Amaranthine. In later life, both vied for the love of Lady Etain of Winterport. Conobar challenged Robert to a joust, and defeated him handily.

"Defeated and dejected, Robert returned to Silverclaw, to his gold and his treasure, but without his love, which incensed him. Three children were born to Conobar, and all three died that winter of the plague. The sickness later took Etain, and the friendship between Conobar and Robert was forever estranged.

"Both were growing older, however, and neither had an heir," said Alexander. "So, it was surprising news in the Bannorn when Bann Robert returned from the Elder Wood with a beautiful bride in tow. Calling herself Flemeth, she rarely left the tower, but the prosperity of Silverclaw grew as Lord Robert was renewed. He governed well for four years, but in that time, she bore him no children, and he was nearly sixty. Their quarrels became fiercer and one day, Flemeth found him with a courtesan in their bed.

"This story sounds like it will have a distinctly poor end," said Antonia.

"Flemeth rode from the Argent Keep in a rage, swearing that Robert would regret his betrayal. She retreated to the Elder Wood and lived there, waiting for the day when her estranged husband would receive his retribution. Conobar saw in her not just a beautiful woman, not just an enchantress, but a way to finally settle the feud with his old friend in his favor. A beautiful woman and a mage! How luck had gifted him, he thought.

"He fell on his knees and begged her to marry him, for he too was old and his heart had been hardened by the death of his beloved, so many years before. To see such timeless beauty awoke a fire in him that brought back his youthful vigor.

"Flemeth smiled and took his hands into hers," Alexander continued. "'I will marry you,' she said, 'under one condition. You must rally a great host, which you will command yourself, and you must burn Silverclaw to the ground. All of its people must be put to the sword, its stonework must be dismantled brick by brick and I will use my magic to wash the ruin away to the sea. Do this and I will make bear you a line that will never perish, do this and you will become teyrn of these lands.

"Bann Conobar could hardly resist," said Alexander. "He mustered his host, a great force of ten thousand men and prepared them to destroy the castle which had never been conquered, the beacon of the west. They marched through the vale to the gates of the fortress, but were assaulted on three sides by archers. Mages in the service of House Maron were atop the walls and rained volleys of fireballs at the charging men. Hundreds died in the assault, and at the end of the first day, the path to the gates was dammed by a rampart of Elstan dead. Night had fallen, and the white wolf of Maron still flew atop the keep of Silverclaw.

"That night, in the camps, Flemeth met a bard named Osen," said Alexander. "His prowess with a blade and his gift with words reminded her of the best qualities of the two men she had wed, and when Osen serenaded her, she was seduced. Conobar was an old man, and she had him twisted around her finger. She had never loved him, and was already jaded from having her heart broken by Bann Robert's infidelity. But she loved Osen, and Osen grew to love her. A new lover in tow, she plotted to usurp Conobar's seat. Unfortunately, Conobar was not a fool, and had spies observing the couple.

"However, his captain of the guard, Sarim Cousland, had grown disgusted by his lord's desire for vengeance against his old rival. Seeing so many of his men die needlessly at Silverclaw's gates convinced him that Highever needed new leadership – him, and his family after him. In a letter, he renounced his oath to his lord, and left the camp alone. Ser Sarim scouted the castle, and scaled the high walls with his bare hands. He snuck into the keep, and encountered Robert and his family. In the time that had passed, he had grown to love the courtesan, named Lady Emma, and their sons, Wulfric and Gareth, and she had become his lawful wife.

"Robert asked him what he intended to do. Sarim confessed that Lady Flemeth planned to use her magic to destroy Silverclaw and that she had ensorcelled the Bann. He pledged his friendship to the aging lord, and knowing that, if the fortress were breached, the entire family would be killed, he spirited Lord Maron's sons back to Highever and kept them there secretly.

"A new round of battles began, and more of Elstan's soldiers died. However, when news reached the camps of Captain Cousland's denunciation of the Bann, thousands of the lord's troops deserted him and began waving the twin laurels of House Cousland. Bann Sarim had control of Highever, and Bann Robert had died heroically defending his gates, but Conobar realized that if word escaped that he had been cuckolded, he would be mocked by his own men. He decided to act against his wife first, before dealing with either of his enemies.

"He brought Flemeth and Osen before him, falsely informing them that he was dying of an arrow wound, and revealed that he knew about the affair. The only forgiveness for them was n death. He then stabbed Osen, and enraged Flemeth. She wanted vengeance, and she wanted it to be delivered, swift and hot, to Bann Conobar. She took a spirit of vengeance into herself and transformed into an abomination.

"Fire rained from the sky and charred Conobar along with his men. Flemeth escaped and fled to the Elder Wood, which she once called home, but was killed by a knight of Highever, Ser Cormac. Her fiery spirit vanished into the air, and she fled south, never again to return to the lands of Highever."

Alexander finished his story and they continued marching through the woods. "That's the version of it I always heard bards in Highever tell. Each place in Ferelden puts its own spin on things. In the Higheverian telling, Sarim turned against Conobar and Flemeth and Osen were willing partners in betrayal. In the Denerimer version, Conobar was killed by Flemeth in his castle, Osen was killed much earlier than him, and Sarim Cousland simply occupied the bannorn when his liege died."

"Some old Amaranthiner versions portray Conobar as a hero and Robert and Sarim as disgusting traitors," said Thomas. "But they're mostly there as a leftover of the Orlesian invasion, when Highever and Silverclaw were the foremost coastal rebel castles and local tales were coopted for propaganda."

"In Gwaren, Ser Cormac becomes 'Cormac Stout-Heart,' a Chasind barbarian," said Antonia. "That's likely due to Gwaren being a backwater with no proper notions of knighthood."

"Well, when you're not led by a proper lord, you can't blame those Southrons from worshipping unwashed barbarians as the ideal," said Alexander.

"Careful with your words, Maron, Loghain is one of our finest generals," said Thomas.

"Aye, a fine general," said Alexander. "If all lords were generals first, blood would continually water the land."

"Show some respect!" Thomas protested. "We live free because of him."

"Of course we do," said Alexander. "Because of one man, in one battle, in one year, the might of the Orlesian Empire was broken. The Couslands were fighting since the beginning; Loghain appeared one year and decided that one victory makes him a teyrn? You don't become a teyrn through one battle. You become a teyrn through centuries of familial service to the realm. Look at Teyrn Cousland – that's what a proper lord looks like. That's what respect looks like."

Thomas turned his horse. "Loghain is a symbol of everything that a true Fereldan aspires to be: the hardworking free man who built himself up from nothing and worked his way to glory."

"Funny that a son of Howe would be praising the virtues of good salt-of-the-earth peasants as the ideal of Fereldan culture," said Alexander, stopping his horse. "Your ancestors sold out the kingdom for sacks of coin, content to pant your faces with the Orlesian fops."

"Careful, Maron," said Thomas. "It's unwise to estrange our friendship so early, and I will not have a mere mage question the honor of my family."

"That seems to be selling me a little short," said Alexander. "The whole realm questions your family's honor, from Silverclaw in the west to Amaranthine in the east, from Highever in the north to Lothering in the south. And I am much more than a 'mere mage.'"

Antonia rode forward. "Can we not argue right this instant? There will be time for fighting at the tourney, and comparing families is useless. My father isn't even a bann. He's still serving the teyrn as a knight."

Alexander calmed down quicker. "Yes, yes, you're right, sweetheart. Thomas, I apologize for any offense I caused."

He extended his hand, and Thomas shook it.

"Accepted, Maron, and likewise, I apologize," said Thomas. "Let's not make a habit of this."

"Agreed," said Alexander.

There was a scream in the distance, and the sound of a wagon crashing through leaves. Alexander and Thomas turned and looked at the forest ahead. "Looks like trouble," said Thomas, taking up a sword.

Captain Drusus rode up with the Ashcrown knights. "My lords, we should investigate. It may be bandits."

"Very well," said Alexander. "Lead on."


	6. Chapter VI

_**Chapter VI: Through Woods and Fields**_

The disturbance down the road was soon discovered as Alexander led the company of knights forward. A company of mercenaries had upended a family's cart as they were traveling north to Silverclaw. From what Alexander could see, the family was Elven – a father, a mother, and two daughters. Several human women were hanging from branches all around them. The father and mother had already been hanged, and the daughters were tied to a nearby tree. The mercenaries, numbering twenty, were searching through the cart, looking for valuables.

"Hold there!" said a sellsword. "What's your business here, mage?"

"My business?" Alexander barked out a laugh. "Can you believe this fellow?" he asked Thomas with a sideways glance.

"I believe he honestly wishes to know. Should we inform him with words, or with steel?" Thomas replied, keeping his sword at the ready.

"Steel, I think," said Alexander. The mage thrust his lance forward and speared the bandit through the throat. The man's face barely registered his astonishment, and he spluttered blood as he died. Alexander held his lance aloft and turned to face the rest of the bandits. "I am no mere mage. I am Alexander of House Maron and this is Thomas of House Howe, and our fathers are vassals of the Teyrn. This is my father's land you are roving, and those are his subjects you have butchered. Now, who leads this company? Step forward and face judgment. Refuse and we will put you all to the sword."

The bandits laughed uproariously at the challenge. "The lord in robes thinks he can take twenty of us with just that friend of his watching his back!" said one bandit. "A mage, right out of the tower! He thinks _he _can challenge _us!_ Oh, fuck me, this is rich, boys!"

"These men are asking to be killed, I say we oblige them," said Captain Drusus.

Alexander raised his staff and the laughing bandit flew backwards, right off his feet, into the trunk of a tree, which cracked under the force of the impact. The rest of the bandits looked from him to their fallen fellow in shock. The mage's tone, however, remained polite when he again spoke. "Now, I won't ask again. Who is your leader?"

"I am," said a sellsword in the back. He had shoulder-length gray hair and an eye patch. "I'm called One-Eyed Jon, Ser Mage, and I am at your service," he added, with a mocking flourish.

"That is doubtful," said Alexander. "From where do you hail?"

"We are Gwareners, m'Lord," said Jon. "I've heard you, Lord Maron. They call you the Exiled Wolf. The townsfolk say you are a mage, that the Chantry wronged your family, that your father cut the Templars to pieces in vengeance. All the bards sing songs of it. I ain't stupid, m'Lord. I'm not going to get me men roasted by your magic. I'll make all a'you an offer. You let me and mine walk free, and there's five hundred silver in it for you."

"Five hundred silver?" Alexander repeated.

"The man thinks we can be bought?" Thomas spat. "We should bring his head before the Teyrn."

Alexander laughed. "Oh we will. Five hundred silver pieces is a comically small bribe, brigand. Do you not know the wealth of this land? My father's coffers are filled with gold and silver, and more is unearthed every day in his mines. I probably have in my pocket more money than you have seen over the course of your entire life. I would not stoop to pick up five hundred silver, and even if you were capable of paying more, I would not accept it."

He rode over to the men and women hanging by nooses from trees. "I hope you gave them quick deaths, though they were guilty of nothing."

"Aye, for the men we did," Jon replied and then smiled. "The women lingered longer, and expired after we was finished with them."

"You're digging yourself deeper, brigand," said Alexander. "Thomas?"

Thomas nocked an arrow on his bow and shot it at Jon. The bandit captain screamed as the bodkin arrowhead flew straight into his left eye and jutted out the back of his skull. One-Eyed Jon had lost his namesake, and much more. The wound was dripping with blood, brains, and shattered fragments from his skull.

The bandits formed a circle of spears, ostensibly to ward off the Ashcrown cavalry that was preparing to charge them, but Alexander raised his staff and summoned some of his gravity-bending Force Magic. A vortex of energy appeared where the bandits were holding their ground. The bandit in the center flew upwards and the rest of them were thrown off their feet and tossed like ragdolls in the swirling maelstrom.

The rest of the knights charged with lances pointed ahead. Captain Drusus shouted, "For the Teyrn!" and rode into the mass of bandits. He wielded a mace, and with it, he caved in the head of the first man who approached him, a foul-looking young man with straw colored hair. The bandit screamed as he saw the captain rushing forward until the mace hit his cheekbone and he crumpled in a haze of fountaining blood and shattered bones.

Alexander gripped the reins of Knight Hunter and coaxed her forward. She was a confident young mare, and eager for bloodshed. At the sight of blood, she neighed and stamped her hooves, so her master ordered her to charge. Alexander couched his lance against his saddle and pointed it at an oncoming bandit footman. The blade point of his lance slashed through the boy's cheek, but the force of the charge drove the lance through, tearing open the right side of his face in a chaotic web of jagged scars, the wounds raw and red with freshly flowing blood. Alexander's lance continued, skewering the boy standing behind him squarely in the right lung. He gave a most terrible gasp of shock as his last breaths were forced from him.

The young mage stopped his charge, as his lance was lodged in the corpse. While he was trying to extricate the weapon, another brigand thrust his spear upward and surprised his horse. She neighed loudly and reared, throwing Alexander off of her and onto the forest floor.

Alexander jumped to his feet, lance in hand. He moved forward and speared one bandit in the chest, and then slashed another through the throat. They both crumpled, but another appeared behind him with a mace. Suddenly, dust was kicked into the air as Thomas Howe rode forward. He pivoted on his saddle as he rode by the bandit. An arrow was nocked in his bow, and he shot it as he passed. The arrow flew through the back of the bandit's neck and jutted through the man's mouth mere moments before he could attack the mage. Alexander gave Thomas a quick nod, and returned to the battle.

The bandits were herded into a tight cluster while the stragglers were swiftly cut down. One was immobilized by Antonia, who trapped his leg to the trunk of a tree, under magically- conjured ice. While he struggled to free himself, she rushed forward with an axe – which incidentally had belonged to this very same bandit before she had stolen it – and hacked apart his face. Another had his jaw smashed in by an unhorsed Drusus, and was barely conscious when the guard captain started raining repeated blows to his face with his mace.

"I surrender!" screamed the final brigand. "Please! Please! Don't kill me, I yield!"

Alexander was again riding on Knight Hunter and rode toward him. "Everyone, hold here! We have a prisoner!"

"Thank you, m'Lord," said the brigand.

"Your name, scum," spat Thomas.

"It's Rolf, m'name's Rolf," he replied.

Alexander dismounted and looked at the boy. He was his age, perhaps a year younger. He favored a hand-and-a-half sword, which was still sheathed and conspicuously without blood. His brown hair was caked with dirt and blood, and he had an open bruise above his left eyebrow, making the flesh around his left eye swell, obscuring the green iris. His right eye, which was shedding tears of abject terror, shone blue.

"How long have you been raping and pillaging through these lands, Rolf?" Alexander asked. "Speak truthfully, now."

"I'm just the cook!" he choked through wracking sobs. "Please don't hack me t'bits, I's only sixteen!"

"Just the cook, he says," said Thomas with transparent disdain. "He probably watched and laughed as all these women were raped and then hung. I say we kill him like the rest and give these women a proper funeral. They deserve better than to be fodder for the crows."

"There are worse fates than being carrion," said Antonia. "Let the boy speak, Thomas."

Alexander turned to Rolf. "How long have you been in the employ of One-Eyed Jon?"

"Since I was seven, m'Lord," said Rolf. "He burned down me village and put me mum on a pike. My sisters was eleven, the both. His says I might be useful, says he. Food's food and I knew how it's made, I do. But I ain't never held a sword before t'day."

"When you bore steel against these knights," Thomas said. "Do you know what the punishment for such a crime is?"

Alexander waved him back. "Let him speak."

"Is livin' such a crime, m'Lord?" Rolf replied. "I ain't never held a blade in malice, Ser, no Ser, I ain't a killer."

"One-Eyed Jon burned down your village and killed your family, and you never tried to run?" Alexander asked.

"Where's I gonna run, Lord Mage?" he asked. "You is spending years an' years with them Templars. How long it take you to run away? I heard you was a boy with an army, an' the Templars still got you in the end, eh? Aye, but Lord William showed 'em in the end, yes Ser he did. Makes those tin men piss'em'selves he does."

"The Templars never forced me to waylay innocent villagers," said Alexander. "I'll allow you to live. You will be brought before my father, the Bann of Silverclaw and Lord-Marshal of the Coastlands. Aside from the Teyrn, he has the right of justice in these lands. Captain Drusus, arrest him, but treat him as gently as you are able."

Drusus nodded and brought him back to the cart, where Ser Osric Halveyle was being held. Meanwhile, Alexander freed the two elven girls who were tied to a tree. They were both uncommonly beautiful, but still young. One had red hair, braided in a ponytail. The other had her brown hair cut in a bob. Neither of them were older than twelve, by his estimation. He knelt beside them.

"Do not fear me," he said gently. "Can you understand me?"

"Yes, m'Lord," said the redhead. "Thank you for freeing us."

"You are most welcome," he replied. "What are your names?"

The redhead turned to the brunette. "Come on, don't be daft. This man just freed us! Aren't you gonna thank him?"

The brunette looked up at him and shook his hand. "T-t-thanks."

"I beg your pardon, m'Lord, she's shy and never really learned how to speak proper," said the redhead. "Our names are Leora – that's me – and this dumb thing is Melwyn."

"Do you have a family name?" Alexander asked.

"Galryon, m'Lord, but few use it," Leora replied. "Would you consider it an offence if I asked your lordship your name, as well as those of your companions?"

"I would not," he replied. "My name is Alexander of House Maron. This is Thomas Howe. The big fellow behind him with the mace is Captain Drusus Medicus of the Ashcrown guardsmen, and the woman next to him is Antonia of House Maitland."

Leora gasped. "I-I-I've heard of you! The exile from the wolf pack! They said you're a mage! They talk about your father crushing the Templars as revenge for breaking the guest right!"

Alexander sighed. "What else have you heard?"

"Loads more!" said Leora. "That you once defeated a magister in single combat; that you ride into battle on the back of a giant mabari; that you skewered a high dragon with your lance and banished it to the void!"

Alexander smiled. "Where did you hear this?"

"In South Reach!" she exclaimed. "The local quiet mages used to give us sweets and tell us stories from the Circle of Magi!"

Now he started laughing. "The _Tranquil _are swapping stories about me? Well, for your information, I have done none of those things. The three maleficarum I have thus far killed were all rebels from the Circle, not Tevinter magisters. Though," he added, "If I encounter such a foe and emerge victorious, I will dedicate that battle to such a fervent admirer."

He smiled, quickly added, "The other stories were completely false, however," and then rose to his feet. His expression was more somber. "These were your parents, I take it?"

Leora's expression gradually lost its joyfulness as she looked up. "Yes, Lord Maron. Those bad men surprised us in the woods. We had stopped because one of the human women needed to take a shit –"

"—Watch your tongue, girl, you're among those of high station," said Thomas firmly.

"Thomas, be nice," said Antonia. "So she had to relieve herself in the woods. Please continue, Leora."

"The bandits started jumping out of the trees," she said. "I think they had been following us for hours."

"Why were they following you?" Thomas asked. "I count seven human women, your father, and your mother. Where are all the human men?"

"We lived on a homestead outside South Reach, m'Lord," said Leora. "A bout of the bloody pox swept through the arling. All the men died and most of the livestock died, so we gathered together enough coin to move up north to Silverclaw. The word is that elves are treated well here in Highever."

"They are," Alexander replied. "The alienages in Highever, Silverclaw, and Winterport are the most prosperous in Ferelden. I do not want to leave you two alone. Do you have any family here in Highever?"

"None, m'Lord," said Leora.

Alexander stood up. "You can travel with us for a time. I am traveling to Silverclaw and then to Highever, for the Teyrn's tourney."

"We would be honored, Ser," said Leora with a curtsy.

Alexander turned to Captain Drusus. "Give them food and water. And then cut these corpses down. Before we depart, we should properly cremate them. But keep the bodies of the bandits separate. We'll burn them in a separate fire."

The men of Ashcrown worked at their task, setting up a great pyre made of logs and fallen branches for the slain peasants, and digging a ditch to burn the bandits in. Alexander stopped by his horse and took out a canteen. He uncorked it and took a long drink from it, reveling in the taste of pure water after the battle.

"The townsfolk are going to be writing songs about you soon, Lord Maron, if you kill enough of these bandits," said Thomas. "You do the Circle and your country credit with your actions."

"You fought well also," said Alexander, offering him a drink. "Silverclaw is three hours away. We can deposit our prisoners, divest ourselves of these elves, and greet my family before heading to Highever."

"That elf girl seemed very much attached to you, Alexander, I doubt she'll be satisfied not accompanying you everywhere after you rescued her," he commented.

Alexander laughed. "Unless something extraordinary happens, my journey ends after the tourney, as I will be returning to the Circle with Antonia."

"Nothing, but extraordinary events have occurred since you journeyed north," said Thomas. "I see no reason why they will not continue. In any case, it will be boring here in the north without you."

"Likewise at the Circle," said Alexander. "Leora and Melwyn will no doubt find lodgings among the elves in Silverclaw. They do not turn away their own."

"She has a pleasant manner and she seems reasonably intelligent. With time, she could become a servant at a manor or perhaps a lady-in-waiting," said Thomas. "There are few other opportunities for women of her station."

"Hopefully she finds a good family," said Alexander.

Antonia rode over to him and dismounted. "Are you hurt, darling?" she asked.

"I am unhurt," he said. "What is the state of our party?"

"Carroll took a blow to the face during the battle," said Antonia. "Don't be alarmed, he was struck by the flat side of a sword. I have cleaned his wound and applied some healing salves. One of Lord Marcus's knights has taken the reins of the wagon. That brigand we captured, Rolf, is a much worse case. That wound he received was old, possibly left untreated and dirty for more than a day. Infection has set in and I have applied maggots to clear away some of the dead flesh."

"You're wasting our medicines on the brigand boy we just captured? Why treat our enemies?" Thomas asked.

"Your enemies are not necessarily a healer's enemies, and I am a healer first and a warrior second," said Antonia.

"No, it's fine," said Alexander. "Have our forces suffered any casualties?"

"Nothing serious, just some minor bumps and bruises," said Antonia. "I have applied some healing poultices and mended any open lacerations. We should be ready to move on soon."

"Excellent," said Alexander. "We will be passing through the farmholds and fields of Silverclaw. They are well-patrolled and relatively safe."

He mounted his horse, and rode back to the clearing, where the bodies of the innocent slain and the bandits were being burned. Ahead of them, the rolling green fields of Highever were visible.

OOOOO

The sun was shining brightly over the fields from a cloudless sky, and the winds were mild, the grass and straw swaying gently against the breeze. Highever was a land of plenty. There was ample farmland for fields of grains and vegetables, and orchards for fruits. The castles and farmsteads openly displayed the prosperity of the region and were built of white and red stones and only the merest of families had straw instead wood for the roofs of their houses. Gardens were everywhere and the scent of flowers in the spring wafted through the air, amid the damp air.

"So, who are the best fighters in these lands?" Leora Galryon asked. She had insisted on riding behind Alexander on his horse, while Melwyn was quietly riding next to her on Antonia's horse.

"A lot of the greatest tournament fighters are now lords," said Thomas. "My father won six archery competitions in his youth. Bann Harald Terrion is a fearsome melee fighter. He runs into battle soaked in gin roaring like a boar, brandishing a giant warhammer. The tournament in Denerim, 9:23 Dragon, was a memorable one. I was coming of age and only a squire then. Lord Harald was facing sixteen tough Rainesfere men. The rest of his team had been knocked out or killed. So he lets out this terrifying battle cry and runs into the crowd, bringing the hammer down on them. I swear, I saw three men fly back from the blow of the first swing alone. He won the melee that day."

"Your father is a lord, is he not, Alexander?" Leora asked. "Does he not fight in tournaments?"

"He did once," said Alexander. "He has not fought in a competition for some time. Age is making slow, but sure progress with him. And with his current, fearsome reputation, few serious challengers emerge. But, when he was young, in the early years of King Maric's reign, he was a notable fighter and swordsman. Few could best him in a duel."

"And what about you, Lady Antonia?"

"My brother Roger is an accomplished jouster," said Antonia. "He was the champion of last year's tourney at Redcliffe. My father Angus does not participate in blood sport, for he is a pious man."

Alexander knew what she meant by "pious man" – Angus Maitland despised his daughter, who he believed to be a blight on his family. As a pious man, he conducted himself entirely contrary to William Maron, and obeyed the wishes of the Templars without question. As a mage, he was not able to marry Antonia off to a lord or fellow knight.

Silverclaw was visible in the distance. To the north, the sloping hills and farmland gradually became rocky cliffs and the sandy shores. The castle was situated at the top of a great outcropping that stretched at least two hundred feet into the air. It was partially built into the rock, and the land around it and the town housed the silver and gold mines which gave it its great wealth. Further to the east, the rocky cliffs ended and became gently sloping hills overlooking the grassland, and at the highest point of five hills were the city of Highever, along with Castle Cousland, barely visible was recognizable in the distance.

"We're nearly there," he said as they rode, but his companions grew wary. They could hear the din of battle in the distance. Alexander glanced at Leora. "Get your sister and go to the wagon. Stay near Ser Carroll and don't do anything rash."

"Is there a battle to be fought?" she asked.

"Yes, but you will not be fighting in it," said Alexander. "Go with Melwyn and stay safe. Ser Drusus! Gather up your knights, and stay with me."

They rode up the hill. In the valley before them, a caravan guarded by Winterport men, which Alexander identified by the blue banner and silver trout sigil, formed a circle of spears as a company of mercenaries were attacking them. Their foes bore the sigil of a black closed fist with rivulets of blood dripping from the hand. There were at least forty of these men attacking the Winterport sentries, who numbered only fifteen. Alexander had only seven knights with him, including Captain Drusus, Thomas, and Antonia.

"Captain, keep your men on the outskirts of the battle," said Alexander. "Herd the enemy into the spear wall, but do not become entangled by them. Three of you will remain with me, as well as Thomas. The rest will accompany you, Captain. We will approach from the flanks and converge gradually towards the center."

"Where shall I be?" Antonia asked. She was riding her horse, holding the reins and her staff in one hand, and a hand axe in the other.

"I need you to ride north," said Alexander, handing her an Ashcrown cavalry trumpet. "There will be a muster hall outside the gates of Silverclaw. Gather as many mounted guardsmen as you can and bring them back here. I doubt those footmen are the entire force."

Antonia gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and sped off. Thomas took out his bow and set an arrow at the ready. "Do I have a priority target, Alexander?" he asked.

"If you can identify an officer in that group, do your best to kill him first," he said. "In fact, there he is; the one with the sword instead of a spear or an axe. See him?"

He was wearing the same sigil as his men, but, indeed, he was carrying a jewel encrusted sword and shouting commands. Thomas aimed his bow and pulled the arrow back. He loosed the shot, and it flew straight into the man's skull.

"Charge!" shouted Alexander. Drusus blew into his horn and a bellowing call rang through the valley. The sound of clattering armor and thumping hooves filled the air as the eight horsemen charged the flanks. Alexander aimed his staff and shot a fireball into the crowd. It hit a man in the enemy's center, but the explosion knocked seven of his comrades back and wreathed them with flames. There was a din of shouting and screaming. The Winterport guardsmen were rallying, the mercenaries had disengaged and reformed to battle Alexander, while still being attacked by the guardsmen at the rear of their center.

He, Thomas, and two Ashcrown knights charged the enemy's right flank. The spear wall was facing front, and the rightmost footmen could not turn fast enough to intercept the four horsemen charging to their sides with lances. The impact sent them flying into the men next to them, disrupting the tight two-rank formation. On the other side, the rest of the knights had done the same to the left flank.

The battle order of the mercenaries was shattered. Without their officer, they did not adapt to the changing situation, and soon the Winterport men broke through their weakened center. The enemy's right started to route. Almost surrounded, and with half their men unable to draw their swords in the crowded conditions, they broke ranks and rank. Thomas took the opportunity to pick off the fleeing enemy with his bow. Meanwhile, the rest of the Winterport guards fell upon the left of the mercenary company and surrounded it. Soon, few of them were alive, and after an hour of intense fighting, Alexander had claimed the battlefield.

"Ser Mage!" cried the guard captain. "Your arrival is timely! We had thought our cargo was lost. I am Hugh, sergeant of the Winterport town guardsmen. By what name should I address you?"

Alexander dismounted and approached Ser Hugh. "You speak to Alexander, of House Maron."

"Well met, friend," said Hugh. The sergeant removed his helm. His blond hair was caked with dirt. "It is fortuitous that our paths crossed. I was transporting Winterport's tax payment along with a company of thirty armed men to Highever when I was waylaid by these brigands."

"Who are they?" Alexander asked.

"I know not," said Hugh. "But my orders still stand. Reinforcements from the same band are on their way. They numbered one hundred good men. They have been attacking caravans serving under bannered lords, stealing chests of gold."

"How many men do you have left?" he asked.

"I have twelve spears," Hugh replied. "We cannot resist an attack by sixty more enemies. My men are exhausted."

"They will have to," said Alexander. "I have sent for reinforcements from Silverclaw."

"Men! Get back into formation," said Hugh. "More of the enemy's on the way!"

The men formed a spear wall on a hill, and Alexander positioned his cavalry on their flanks. He could see them now, forty in number, all of them on horses and the din of their approach, the shouts, the clatter of armor and weapons, the pounding of hooves on the grass, filled the air.

Alexander aimed his staff and shot another fireball at the oncoming cavalry. It exploded on the ground and flung several of the horsemen into the air. He aimed again and this time shot a blast of ice at the ground. It froze over. Several horses bowled over the sheet of ice and its riders were de-horsed. Finally, he summoned a great boulder, which tore through a long section of grass and dirt to provide the earth necessary for sedimentation. He simply moved it to a different spot, breaking the charge of the horsemen, who were forced to avoid both the broken ground and the boulder. Thomas, meanwhile, killed the officer leading the mercenaries with a particularly well-aimed arrow that struck him in the neck.

The horsemen charged, but their file had been narrowed from the obstructions. The first riders, approaching one at a time, were struck down by the spear wall, and those who followed were enveloped by horsemen. It was only after six of their number had been killed that the leaderless mercenaries fanned out, and began to battle more fiercely.

Alexander thrust his lance into the nearest horseman and he felt from his steed with a blood splutter. Drusus rode next to him and smashed the skull of the next man with his mace, showering them all with blood. Thomas had exchanged his bow for a sword and was hacking through the mass of men and horses.

Another group of horsemen charged at him, so Alexander shot a stream of electricity from his staff, and they screamed and fell. Suddenly, someone shouted, "Kill the mage!" and before he could properly react, a spear was thrust into his horse's neck. Knight Hunter brayed softly and fell to the ground, dead.

Alexander dropped to the ground and was stunned. Everything seemed a blurry haze. He rose, but was knocked back down as a heavyset foe fell off his horse and onto him in the chaos. Blood was getting splattered everywhere, and his staff was on the grass, out of reach.

"Damn it!" Alexander muttered.

A mercenary loomed over him, and he had raised his axe, preparing to hew Alexander's face. But even unarmed, he could still use magic. He gripped the man's face and conjured flames. The man screamed as skin, muscle, and sinew started melting off his skull. Warm blood poured everywhere as his face liquefied onto the corpse confining the mage.

Suddenly, there was a trumpet call. Not the broad, low call of the Winterport horn, but a sustained melodic note, haunting and beautiful like the howl of a wolf. The men of Silverclaw had arrived. Their cavalry crashed into the enemy's right flank and broke them. Those that did not flee or surrender were quickly cut down. It was a merciless slaughter.

Alexander retrieved his staff and was accosted by several of the remaining enemy horsemen, now deprived of their steeds. One slashed with his sword, but Alexander blocked, and then kicked the man down. Another attacked him, but with a swift thrust, he stabbed him in the throat. The third one attacked him with a mace, but he sidestepped as the blow came. The mercenary overstepped. The weapon came crashing to the ground. Alexander pointed his staff at the man and set him on fire. He died quickly after that.

He approached the one who had been kicked down. He removed the man's helmet and discovered the face of a woman behind it. She had a broken nose and a head of scraggly brown hair. "I surrender, m'Lord," she said thickly, through her bloody nose.

The Silverclaw cavalry, numbering twenty, and remaining six Winterport foot guards, had gathered on the hill. Antonia rushed over to him. In the time that she had been away, she had exchanged her Circle robes for a set of black and silver armor, which bore a wolf sigil on the cuirass. Her axe hung at her belt, and her staff was safely tucked away on her saddle.

She kissed him, even though he was covered in blood and gore, but her embrace was electrifying after that battle. "You have done well, my lady. And you are a beautiful sight," he said, brushing an errant lock of fire-red hair as he moved in to kiss her again.

"Alexander!" The man's voice was unmistakable, gruff and raspy, but baritone. He was as tall as Alexander, who dwarfed most men at six feet and two inches. A great beard of black and grey bristles covered most of face, from his cheekbones to his chin, and his hair was thick, though similarly graying. His eyes, though, his eyes were exactly the same as Alexander's, gray as the winter sky. William Maron hugged his son and gave a rare smile.

"I was not expecting you to journey north," he said. "I expected that weasel Greagoir to deny you."

"He was convinced to let me attend the tourney at Highever," said Alexander. "I would have been home this morning, but, ah, unforeseen events delayed me."

"So I see," said William. "I take it this pretty young woman is with you? I commend your choice in women, son. She took the head of the first of these Hard Line thugs that came at me, very impressive for a mage."

Antonia turned deep red at the compliment, and Alexander gave her a warm smile. "Who are these Hard Line men?"

"Mercenaries," said Lord William. "They used to fight for King Maric, under Harwen Raleigh, but the many crimes they committed against the Fereldan people meant that the king exiled them after the Orlesians left. They're scum of the worst order and sometimes ride into the country to raid caravans for gold or women."

"Well, they've lost nearly a hundred men," said Alexander. "I don't think the Hard Line will pillage Highever once word reaches their commander how many of his men we have defeated."

"They will return," said William. "Have you captured any of their soldiers?"

"Just one," said Alexander. "A woman. My men are likely bringing her to my wagon. We're traveling two additional prisoners from earlier encounters on the road."

"You captured more people?" William's surprised expression had a hint of pride. "You have been very busy, it seems. Are they blood mages?"

"Nothing so exotic," said Alexander. "A rogue knight and a brigand."

"We will bring them to the castle for judgment," said Lord William. "You will need a horse, and a physician to see to those bruises. Your mother will be pleased to see you. Captain Farquhar! Captain, get my son a horse."

Alexander was given a roan gelding. As he was following the Silverclaw horse guards, Sergeant Hugh of the Winterport guardsmen approached him.

"Lord Alexander, your help was invaluable," he said. "We would not have lived to complete our tasks had you not intervened. When I return home, I will inform Lord Reyne of your actions. The next time you journey to Winterport, you will receive a hero's welcome."

Alexander returned the man's bow with one of his own. "You fought well, sergeant. Give your commander and your lord my regards, and I wish you safe travels to Highever."

The party now consisted of Alexander, Antonia, Thomas, Drusus and his knights, Lord William and his knights, and Carroll driving the wagon. Together, they rode back to the castle of Silverclaw, trumpets blaring as they approached, signaling for the gates to be opened.


	7. Chapter VII

_**Chapter VII: Silverclaw**_

Arthur Maron was a boy of eight, the youngest son of Lord William Maron, Bann of Silverclaw. In appearance, he looked exactly like his father and eldest brother, when they were boys. His long black hair fell past his ears and his eyes were a shining gray. His nose, like his brother and father, was also slightly hooked, and his gaze was sharp and intense.

It had been nearly evening when a beautiful redheaded woman rode through the streets of Silverclaw, atop a white mare. Andrew's Vale was the rocky pass where the town and castle were built. High cliffs jutted on both sides of the path, and were fortified at the top with walls. Archers made regular patrols on both of these walls, and any army that invaded would have to contend with archers stationed at either flank, posted on fortifications so high that, while their archers could rain arrows down with ease, shooting arrows up was much harder.

The gates of Silverclaw were made of volcanic aurum, forged by the dwarves and enchanted by the mages of the Circle. Sculpted onto the door were icons of King Calenhad, Teyrn Mather Cousland, and Bann Andrew Maron, all of them holding a hand up in a gesture of defiance. An inscription was written above them in Arcanum:

"All who seek to supplant, to uproot, and to betray shall be destroyed, for our roots are deep and our line is strong. To House Cousland, and to House Theirin, we pledge our loyalty, our strength, and our wealth. We swear it by rock and earth, we swear it by sea and sky, and we swear it by blood and iron. And here shall we stand."

Behind the gate was a portcullis, which, when raised, opened into a courtyard. The houses and shops were built of black stone with roofs made of wooden slats. The streets were paved with smooth cobblestones, lined on either side by gutters. Lord Andrew's Street was the main thoroughfare in town, starting at the main gates and extending all the way to the outer walls of the Argent Keep, which overlooked the town. There were three inner walls with gates enclosing sections of the street, and guards posted at the walls.

The Argent Keep was, in Arthur's mind, a fancy name for a much larger fortress, a citadel, really. The keep was the largest and greatest of Silverclaw's towers. It stood five stories off the ground and had scores of rooms and over a dozen hearths. The walls were built of built of black stone, but flecked with silver, such that it shimmered in the moonlight. To the east was the High Tower, the tallest tower and the location of the Bann's personal library, which numbered over two thousand books. The Lord's Tower was in the north, facing the shore of the Waking Sea. Arthur's father lived there, on the highest floor. He, to his chagrin, had to share a room across the hall with his brothers Richard and James, but things had improved since the two of them had left to squire in Highever. The West Tower looked towards the mountains, and was mostly used to house the most distinguished guests. The best rooms there were reserved for the Teyrn and his family. The next best were reserved for the royal family, though his father would never say that aloud and Arthur knew better to say it for him. The southern tower was reserved for the watchmen, and the highest floor contained a spyglass for them to observe the road leading into Andrew's Vale. In front of the northern tower was Argent Rock, an outcropping which offered a breathtaking view of the sea, but was used for the execution of traitors and assassins. Men hurled from the Rock would fallen upon the sharp rocks at the base of the northern cliffs, their corpses left as carrion for crows.

The woman who rode to Silverclaw that day, she was wearing a robe of the Circle of Magi. She was quite tall, dwarfing some of the soldiers who fought for his father. Her words were urgent. "My lord, your son approaches. He is fighting brigands on the northward path and has called for reinforcements!"

His father wasted little time. He kept twenty riders constantly at the ready, in case a relief force was needed to reinforce the guardsmen in the country. This time, however, both he and the young woman had donned armor, and mounted horses in preparation for battle. Ser Garrett Farquhar, his father's steward after Marcus Deverus had left to take up lordship of Ashcrown, blew his trumpet, calling for the knights to assemble. Arthur loved the sound of the trumpet. Ever since he was a baby, they signaled the approach of his father and his army.

At the castle, his mother Helena was attending to the business of the day. Taxes were being submitted to Highever. Silverclaw, being Highever's wealthiest fief, contributed the most to the Cousland coffers. Eight chests were filled with gold sovereigns, and the caravans were being loaded with grain from the farms, fruit from the orchards, stone and silver from the quarries and mines, and bow staves from the Elder Wood. Arthur watched from a castle wall as wagons were fitted with teams of oxen and caravans carrying this wealth ventured through the gates.

Gifts were being prepared for presentation to King Cailan and Teyrn Cousland. The King was receiving a suit of silverite plate armor, made according to the specifications of Fereldan historians as a replica of the set that King Calenhad was given by the Circle of Magi when they had endorsed his rule. Legend said that Calenhad, wearing the armor, walked straight through Andrew's Vale as hundreds of archers were shooting arrows at him, all to no avail, and reached the gate, which no enemy ever could do. That moment, his father explained, was when House Maron dipped the banners of Silverclaw. They had dipped its banners to only one other man: Mather Cousland, first Teyrn of Highever, but by Calenhad, they had truly been humbled. Their roots may have been deep, but the Theirin king had come closest to tearing them from the ground.

To Bryce Cousland, they gave a longsword, made also of silverite, set on a hilt of gold and encrusted with rubies. The Tranquil of the Circle Magi had enchanted the blade specifically to be effective against darkspawn. When such creatures were near, the blade would give off a pale silver glow, and when struck by it, the flesh of the darkspawn would melt and boil as its power coursed through the victim. His father had explained to Arthur that it had been Sarim, the first Cousland bann, who had saved House Maron when he renounced his oath to Bann Conobar Elstan as he was laying siege to Silverclaw and spirited away both of Bann Robert Maron's heirs. Sarim had claimed Highever for his own family that day, and the freeholders had followed. Silverclaw declared itself allied in perpetuity to Highever, and Lord William's mother had been a Cousland – Teyrn Cousland's aunt, in fact. And for family, his father said, he would do anything.

The castle blacksmith was named Ronan, and he had two apprentices, Pip, aged twelve, and Liam, aged fifteen. He was watching them work their craft – pouring the steel into a mold and shaping it into a blade, or the head of an axe. Pip was busy making spear points and fixing them onto wooden staves. He explained that he made two types of polearms: spears and javelins. The spear points were made of hardened, well-tempered steel and could stop a cavalry charge if used correctly, he explained. The thrust could pierce flesh, cloth, and even metal. The javelin, however, was for throwing. The point was made of softer iron, and when it became embedded in a wooden shield or in armor, the weight of the staff would bend the neck affixing it to the point downward, making the shield unwieldy and tempting the soldier to either discard it or spend valuable time extricating the javelin from it. His father had once told him that his mother's people, from Tevinter, had introduced such a tactic when they landed in Ferelden during the rebellion.

Liam, on the other hand, had finished crafting a sword and had shown it to Ronan. "Messere Ronan, I've finished with the job!" he announced proudly.

"Passable work," he said after looking at the blade. "Good for a soldier, yes, but I'd not give this to the Bann. If you want to take my job one day, Liam, you need more practice! This sword is much too stiff! It cannot be brittle. What makes a good sword?"

"It must be strong enough to hold an edge, but flexible enough to bend without breaking," said Liam. "I'll try again, Master Ronan."

Arthur watched Liam spend the rest of the morning crafting another blade, which Ronan declared to be "good enough" and turned to find his schoolmaster, Brother Zacharias, an elderly man with a completely bald head and a triangular silver goatee, standing above him.

"Good morning, Arthur," he said politely, with a smile.

"Good morning, Brother Zacharias," he replied quietly. His eyes widened. He had forgotten that he had forgotten his lessons with the old scholar. In the excitement of his father summoning the knights, they had slipped from his mind. "My lessons! I'm so sorry, ser, I completely forgot."

"Yes, I suppose the sight of knights marching off to war and weapons being crafted at the forge would be enough to distract any eight year old boy," he replied with a smile. "It's all right, lad. Let's get you your lunch, and we can commence afterward."

OOOOO

Trumpets sounded on the walls of Silverclaw. The lord was returning at the head of a large company. The townsfolk that were standing in the street hastily moved out of the way, and the watchmen opened the gates and portcullis. The wolf horns blared from the knights riding in, and black flags bearing the white wolf waved at the head of the column. Bann William followed the banner guards. He was dressed in silverite plate armor, which gleamed in the afternoon sun. A black cloak was draped around his shoulder, obscuring his left side, and fastened to his armor by a belt and at his gorget, which had a wolf embossment.

Following him were several knights, both of Silverclaw and of Ashcrown, and then a young woman with fiery, flowing red hair, and then a young man who looked exactly like a youthful version of their lord. The townsfolk, seeing the memory of William in the prime of his life, knew precisely that this was his son, Alexander, the young boy who left Silverclaw with his head held high to become a mage. Stories had been told of how he had marched to Kinloch Hold with a retinue of his finest knights, refusing to be carried off like a prisoner, and how his father crushed the Templars who had invaded Highever to bring the Maron family to heel. The air was filled with hushed whispers. Had the heir to their bannorn returned to claim his seat? Was he an honest mage, or had contact with the Circle corrupted him to the dark arts, or into a toady of the Chantry? The people of Silverclaw distrusted both equally after Ser Reginald Bramford ordered the village of Andrew's Refuge put to the sword, ten years ago.

The procession rode through the courtyard and up Lord Andrew's Street, passing by the shops and stalls and houses. It was clear that despite his fearsome reputation, William was respected by most of his townspeople, and perhaps even loved by some of them. They rode through town, and William made occasional stops to mingle with his subjects before they entered the gates to the castle.

The group dismounted their horses in the castle courtyard, a cramped space that seemed more like a city square, for it was dwarfed by the keep, and the southern and western towers. Nestled between the southern tower and the wall was a mustering hall and a stable, where the knights and squires sworn to Silverclaw practiced and lived. A barracks for the castle watch was located on the other side of the castle, next to a tannery and the blacksmith's forge. The castle servants began taking their things from the wagon and bringing them to rooms in the Lord's Tower. William turned to his steward. "Farquhar, have your men escort our prisoners to the dungeons. I'll pronounce a sentence against them once court is in session."

"Captain, I'd suggest putting them in separate cells," Alexander suggested. "The knight has a violent disposition."

"Drop dead, mage!" Ser Osric spat. "If I wasn't shackled, I'd fuck you bloody!"

"Perhaps I understated it," said Alexander. "But I trust you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, I'll have a group of castle watchmen escort them," said Farquhar.

Alexander hurried into the Argent Keep, pushing open one of the great stone doors, and revealing the main hall. The walls of black stone gave it a subdued atmosphere, punctured only by the rays of light shining in from the opened windows. It was as he remembered. Carpets of exquisite wool, colored black and embroidered at the edges with silver, were sprawled on the polished grayish-black marble floors. Candles were set into wolf busts sculpted into the pillars, and as a very small child, he once tricked his sister into believing the wolf statues could breathe fire.

The throne which Bann William sat upon was made of solid silverite, and thus shone in the light. Hanging behind it was a flag of Silverclaw, with the Highever flag, two golden laurels on a blue field, quartered on the top left corner. Flanking the flag were two werewolf pelts. They must have been recently hunted, for Alexander could scarcely remember his father sitting and holding court with such a horrifying thing hanging behind him. Still, he had to admit that it had a dark, symbolic sort of glamor, useful for frightening the superstitious noblemen of the south, and the Chantry.

The throne was on an elevated dais, set behind a great oak table. Chairs were set on either side of the throne, reserved for the captain of the guard and the steward. Ten years ago, Lord Marcus had been the captain, while Father Luther had been the steward. Both he and Lord Faustus Deverus of Ashcrown had died since then, and so replacements were found. Alexander took his time to absorb every detail in the room. One day, he had stepped from this hall, once thronging with people, with a bodyguard of knights. Today, he was returning, as though he had stepped out a boy, and stepped back in. Nothing had changed here, but Ferelden had changed, the world had grown older, _he _had grown older. Now he was a man grown, his childhood and later boyhood spent poring over tomes by candlelight and watching warily as Templar soldiers marched by.

He wondered whether his friends would recognize him, or be receptive toward him. And, though he tried to muster his memories, he could not remember ever having any real friends, only the knights and courtiers that surrounded his father, though he did sometimes play with his father's squires.

"It looks magnificent," said Antonia, shaking him out of his reverie. "You look positively melancholy, Alexander. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Alexander lied. The life he wanted so desperately was literally feet away from him. He could be the lord of Silverclaw, holding counsel with the Teyrn and free of the Chantry's grip, having both reputation and military might to stave off their demands. He could marry Antonia without having to ask that accursed Revered Mother's permission and their children would not be plucked from their mother's breast to be molded into loyal, nameless servants of the Divine. Maker help them if they became mages. No, his sons and daughters would be knights and ladies, scholars and administrators, helping the Couslands shepherd Ferelden toward the path of justice and prosperity.

The door swung open and William walked in. "Now, you can tell me why you're here?" he asked, without preamble and in a tone completely different from the congeniality with which he had greeted them with in the field. "The Knight-Commander would not have sent you unless he was trying to deliver a message through you."

"Why do you think that," Alexander asked. "I am a mage of the Circle and we regularly attend tourneys."

"Oh indeed," said William. "And they would send you, as opposed to sending your young lady friend alone? You are not just a mage of the Circle, Alexander; you are my son, my firstborn, and a hostage of the Chantry."

"A hostage?" Alexander found the idea ludicrous. "Father, if I were truly a hostage, the Templars would have killed me long ago, for you have given them much provocation of the last ten years. And what was I supposed to do? Tell the Templars "no"? Ask our people to fight a war against the Chantry? Where was I supposed to obtain training from?"

William looked at Thomas and Antonia. "Leave us. Both of you go. Now."

Antonia protested. "Anything you have to say in front of Alexander you can say in front of me."

"But not in front of a son of Rendon Howe," he answered curtly. "And this does not concern you, so remove yourself Lady Maitland."

Alexander gave them a helpless little shrug, more to Thomas, who looked incensed at having his father's name slighted, than to Antonia, who briefly looked annoyed before regaining her composure. She led Thomas out of the hall, leaving just father and son."

William motioned to Alexander. "Sit down."

They both sat at the table on the dais, William on his throne, and Alexander on the steward's chair. His father turned to him. "You could have received training from an apostate. I have dozens hidden in the Teyrnir under my employ."

"Hiding in the hedge, or in village hovels," said Alexander. "Do you really trust any of them with such intimate access to the castle? And what happens if the apostate you hire turns out to be a traitor, with nefarious plans for the bannorn? What happens if he or she is incompetent, and I accidentally end up tearing the Veil? The Circle is the best place, the _only_ place to receive a decent education in magic."

"Yes, and while you're poring over tomes by candlelight, the Knight-Commander and those vile whores in the Chantry are feeding you lies and turning my firstborn son who should be my _heir_ into a fifth column," William grumbled.

"I am no traitor, father," said Alexander. "Do you think I have followed the Chantry's every dictate? But you have seven other children; were none of them satisfactory heirs?"

William sighed. "Victoria thinks only of her archery and of hunting; Rose and Theresa know nothing of the world besides knights in shining armor and the tales your mother indulged them with; Elizabeth refuses to accept an any marriage I arrange for her, and even she had I am fearful of the bannorn falling into the hands of an unworthy house, for they are all unworthy; Richard and James spend too much time playing mindless pranks and not enough time focusing on their studies; and Arthur, Arthur is too young."

"You could mold him into a proper heir one day," said Alexander.

"'One day' is too far off," said William. "I need a proper successor now. Not tomorrow, not next year, not ten years from now. _Now_. The new king is a puppet of that disgusting upstart from Gwaren and his whore of a daughter has the entire country by the balls. Redcliffe is growing in power and influence, and I know Arl Eamon is waiting for that moment to supplant Highever in the king's favor. And, to think there are snakes outside our domain, asps have found their way in. Rendon Howe has become very powerful in the Higheverian court, and you are traveling with his son."

"Thomas seems like a likable fellow," said Alexander.

"I doubt it," said William. "Tarleton Howe was a traitor to our country, Lord Rendon will turn out to be, and if you count Thomas as a friend, he will betray you, each time more terribly than the last. Treachery is in their blood, a black sickness which courses through the veins of all those who have been tainted by Orlais."

Alexander laughed. "You sound like Loghain Mac Tir. Perhaps the two of you should vacation in Montsimmard."

"Don't speak to me of that mud farmer," William spat. "Alexander, what I need is a proper heir, for the legacy of this family. You are that heir. You were always shrewd, even as a boy. You took your duties seriously. I'll not have you languishing in a cell until you are nothing but bones, until your mind has shriveled and the best years of your life were wasted as a glorified librarian for the Chantry."

Alexander did not betray how pleasing it was to hear his father's words, but for the sake of argument, as much as curiosity, he replied, "How are you going to accomplish this? Are you planning to battle the entire Templar Order and browbeat them into freeing me?"

"If I have to, I'll tear the Chantry down brick by brick until my line is restored and my family is whole again," said William. "You remember that when you decide to take the Chantry's side and start delivering Knight-Commander Greagoir's letters like a common errand boy. We wolves look out for our own. There are few else in the world that will."

"Understood," said Alexander. "Will you at least hear out the Knight-Commander's proposal? He believes there is an opportunity for mutual benefit."

"That is doubtful," said William. "Let me see the missive."

Alexander handed him the scroll outlining the details of Greagoir's plan. William unrolled it and read it silently for a few moments. "I see," he said. "I raise an army to do the Templars' dirty work for them, and they will grant me permission to accrue profits from a lyrium mining venture."

"The Templars will be supplying a company of their own knights for the expedition, in addition to Gadrin Varen's dwarves, which are estimated to number two thousand strong. And you underestimate the boon of a stake in a lyrium mine. Gold would flow into our coffers like never before. The current price is seven hundred sovereigns a barrel for refined product, three hundred and thirty-two for the raw substance. And all of that gold is currently going into the Chantry's pocket. That could be _yours_."

"Why would the Chantry puncture their monopoly?" William asked. "And why would they allow me, of all people, to collect a portion of the profits. I extort enough money from them in tolls."

"That's part of the problem," said Alexander. "The Fereldan Templars are underfunded. Their gold is vanishing in tolls and taxes, and with that, their ability to pay for lyrium. Without lyrium, their Templars cannot be trained and fewer mages can undergo the Harrowing. With fewer Templars, more mages will be transferred to Orlais, or the Free Marches. You could undercut both the dwarves and the Chantry."

"Perhaps there is some profit to be gained," William admitted. "But Varen Thaig is under the Korcari Wilds. Chasind tribes control that territory, and will not be receptive to our advancing army. I will have to convince them to support any such expedition."

"They can be reasoned with," said Alexander.

"But reclaiming the thaig will be difficult," said William. "We will need to amass supplies and maintain a steady supply line, because we will surely be incapable of finding edible food or clean water in the darkspawn birthing grottos. We will need mages to cleanse the areas we recapture, or else our soldiers might grow ill from the darkspawn sickness. Siege engineers will be needed in order to form a fortified base camp, perhaps in the gate hall. Diplomacy between the Chasind humans and the Dalish elves will need to be constantly attended to, lest our order of battle be shattered from internal divisions. Most importantly, enough troops will be needed so that we can both capture the gate and maintain a large enough force to conduct a campaign within the thaig itself."

"You seem to know much about fighting darkspawn, Father." Alexander was impressed. He knew his father was a great general, but he rarely had the opportunity to truly discuss strategy with him, and do so as a man, and not a boy being lectured.

"As a boy, I knew King Endrin Aeducan of Orzammar," said William. "My father, your grandfather, sent me to fight with the dwarves, and I learned much of their struggle. I know Gadrin Varen. His people have wandered Thedas, among the casteless and surface dwarves, for thousands of years. They are good people, and I would be honored to fight alongside them again to reclaim their kingdom. However, these preparations will likely take a month, and will have to be made after the tournament at Highever."

He leaned forward. "There are a number of stipulations for my cooperation. First, this mission must be endorsed by the king. I will not act without royal approval. Second, the Knight-Commander must agree to send his deputy as the commander of all Templars traveling on this expedition. Third, the Templars must agree to fund the lyrium supply and magical arsenal of their soldiers. I will not pay for them. Fourth, you must be permitted to serve in the force, and be under my direct command as a lieutenant. Fifth, while individual companies will have separate commanders, I must have unquestioned command of the army."

Alexander's mind was spinning from the litany of demands, but he nodded nonetheless. "I will tell the Knight-Commander of your demands."

William nodded. "Good. Was there any other message from the Templars that needs to be addressed?"

"None, Father," said Alexander.

He nodded again. "Good, good…"

Alexander prodded, "What's the matter? You're giving me that distant, thousand-yard stare again. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," he lied. "I just – I had hoped events would unfold differently, that you would spend your childhood here, and grow to be Bann of Silverclaw and continue my line. That you would become a wise ruler, and not simply a mage, and that the burden of magic would not fall on your shoulders. I didn't want this for you. I wanted you to become a bann, perhaps Teyrn Cousland's chief councilor, and even an arl. But never a mage. I've spent my life protecting my family; I won't apologize for that now. But I refuse to be a fool, pulled by strings like a puppet and dancing to the tune of invisible gods and high priests."

"We'll succeed one, Father," said Alexander. "One day, I'll be bann, and you can rest easy knowing that your family has been restored."

"I am not so sure," said William. "War is coming; I can feel it in my bones. The lords of the Landsmeet despise each other. Now that Orlais has left, old enmities have resurfaced. When that war comes, it will be my last war. Whenever that day comes, however that war ends, it will determine my legacy. We could slip into nothingness, like the Elstans. Or we could strengthen our dynasty and have it last generations."

"We won't fall," said Alexander. "So long as there is a Cousland in Highever and a Maron in Silverclaw, the Coastlands will remain strong."

William slowly nodded. "You are blessed with things few men have. You are intelligent, you are strong in battle, and you have a good heart. I want you to grow into the man who will be my heir, now. I might seem unreasonable, but I want what is best for all of us. I won't let the Chantry tell me what is best for my children."

He stood up. "My answer to Greagoir is tentatively 'yes'. I will put my troops on alert and have them at the ready. Once the preparations with the dwarves and Chantry have been made, we will amass our force at Rainesfere and then depart."

Alexander nodded. "Thank you, Father."

William gave a dismissive grunt and walked toward the door. "Be sure to speak to your mother. She has been worried for you these ten years. The same goes for your brothers and sisters."

"I'll talk to them," said Alexander.

The Bann of Silverclaw gave his son a grim sort of smile and left the hall, leaving Alexander alone in the hall with his thoughts.

OOOOO

"Can you believe that man?" Thomas whispered incredulously. "He has the nerve to insult my family to my face. At least Alexander apologized for such impropriety. The Bann does so brazenly!"

"I know, but please be patient," said Antonia reassuringly. "Your father and Lord Maron have been feuding before any of us were born. It would be impossible to understand their mutual dislike. He has offered us bread and shelter in his castle. He is a brusque man, but he is not unreasonable."

"Perhaps not," said Thomas. "But our families command respect in the eyes of Teyrn Cousland, why not in each other?"

"It's a very long story," said Alexander, walking out of the main hall. "The short of it is that they are rivals for the favor of the Teyrn and the King. I'm sorry for the way my father spoke to you. It was out of order, and I apologize if he caused offense. You're still welcome here, of course."

Two girls hurried out of the crowd, one of them raven haired and the other a redhead. "Alexander! Why didn't you tell us you had returned?" the black haired girl exclaimed.

Alexander embraced her. "It has been too long, indeed."

He turned to Antonia and Thomas. "Friends, this is my sister Victoria, and my sister Rose," he added, gesturing to the redhead.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," said Victoria. Her voice was extraordinarily chipper and she couldn't help but grin, showing off a mouthful of pearly white teeth. She gave them a curtsy, in unison with her sister, who was more reserved.

"Alexander, Father was most insistent that he speak to you," said Rose. Her voice was dignified, and she kept her chin held high at all times.

"We've already spoken," said Alexander, treating his favorite sister with a smile. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise, brother," said Rose. "Who are these people? I do not recognize them."

"This is Antonia, daughter of Ser Angus Maitland," said Alexander. "And this Thomas, son of Arl Rendon Howe."

"How did the three of you meet?" Victoria asked. "My brother certainly keeps interesting company. Are you a mage, Antonia?"

"Yes, in fact," said Antonia. "Alexander and I have been friends since we were children. More than friends, since more recently."

Victoria's smile widened. "Is that so?"

"It is, but we're not going to pry, isn't that right, Victoria? Yes, that is quite right," Alexander said, nodding his head facetiously.

"Oh, you're no fun!" said Victoria. "Thomas, I take it you've met our insufferable father by now. I'd like to apologize in case he has insulted you. He truly does despise your father, but I hope that has not soured your opinion of our whole family," she said.

"He is a good man, but the passage of time has made him bitter and prone to rudeness," said Rose. "A highborn lord such as you is always welcome in our castle, and at our table."

"The gesture is most welcome," said Thomas. "I have heard that sacred hospitality is valued highly in Silverclaw."

"It is," said Rose. "When you pass our walls in good faith, you enter our protection. The Templar who violated that law was hurled from the Argent Rock, and the Teyrn approved."

"Speaking of Templars," said Victoria. "You should attend to your…bodyguard, Alexander. He is currently in the courtyard, shouting that he is in actuality the Queen of Antiva, trapped under a suit of flesh in the guise of a man. He started seizing, promptly shat in his armor, and is currently in the care of our servants."

Alexander clasped his forehead. "Oh no, Carroll's having one of his episodes – it's his lyrium addiction," he explained. "When his mind was more lucid, we were friends, but he has been taking such strong doses of the substance after being knighted that it has eaten away at his mind. He suffers from dementia and epilepsy as a result, and incontinence is one of the lesser effects. I will have to speak to Mother about having a servant at his side constantly, and one of the castle physicians ready to heal him should he become ill again."

"I'll come with you," said Antonia. "I'll speak with the physician and inform him what herbs work best to alleviate his condition."

Thomas was left alone with Alexander's sisters. It was quite awkward, for they were new acquaintances. "Are you interested in archery, my lord?" Victoria asked. "I have heard it is a well-practiced art in the east."

That piqued his interest. "Yes, actually! I am quite keen on it. I was just in combat, alongside your brother."

"I heard," said Victoria. "Well, come on then! We will have to see how good you are!"

"Oh dear," said Rose. "Am I going to have to sit through another deep discussion of bow craft and the intricacies of archery technique? I have already committed to memory your long lecture of the virtues of ironwood in the construction of bow staves."

"No one asked you to join us, sweet sister, I am sure Theresa and Elizabeth would enjoy your company if you have tired of mine," said Victoria.

"All Theresa ever talks about is boys," said Rose. "'Oh, Rose, did you see Ser Jonathan Turnoble? Have you ever gazed into his _beautifu_l blue eyes? Aren't they simply _breathtaking_?' 'Just look at the muscles on Ser Braden Stone! He is surely the knight to sweep me away on his steed!' It's sickening, if you ask me, and if I'm with Elizabeth, I'm with Theresa. They are inseparable."

"As are we, sister," said Victoria.

"That is generally true," said Rose. "All right, I will join you."

"You do not enjoy archery, my lady?" Thomas asked.

"I am not good at it," said Rose.

"I could teach you, at some point," he offered.

"First, we have our contest," said Victoria. She led them past the inner walls that connected the four towers and surrounded the Argent Keep. The outer walls were built according to the contour of the peak of the Rock and were more extensive. They went to the barracks, to a drill yard where soldiers were practicing their marksmanship.

"Now, we'll shoot five arrows each, standing thirty paces from the target," said Victoria. She handed Thomas a foot archer's longbow, made of ash wood. She grabbed another, made of yew, and gave one made of oak to her sister.

"You can take the first shot," said Victoria.

Thomas took an arrow from the quiver at his belt. He set it on the bow and drew the bowstring back. The target was a bull's eye painted on a pad made of straw and leather. He took aim, positioning his bow. He released the arrow, and the bowstring gave a sharp _twang_ as it let the projectile loose. The air was rent by the soft swishing sound of the feathered shaft delivering the arrowhead straight into the center of the target.

"Well done, Lord Howe!" said Victoria.

Thomas fired four more arrows, all of them hitting the center of the target. He gave a satisfied smirk as he glanced at Victoria's shocked expression, and then collected his arrows. Rose, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear; she was satisfied that someone was beating Victoria at her own game.

Victoria took aim, and shot her five arrows. Four of them hit the center of the target. The last was too high, and hit the upper edge.

"It appears I have beaten you, my Lady," said Thomas, extending his hand. She shook it, and then went off to collect her arrows.

When it came time for Rose to try shooting her bow, she approached the position nervously. She imitated her sister and Thomas in firmly grasping the bow with her right hand and the arrow with her left. She pulled it back and shot it, but the shot just barely hit the target, landing on the rim.

"Damn it," she whispered.

"Don't hold your bow so stiffly," said Thomas. "You are fidgeting and your aim is being spoiled by your tenseness."

She shot another arrow, and this one fell short of the target. Victoria burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. Rose glared at her.

"It was not so long ago that you were committing the same errors," said Bann William, from a balcony overlooking the drill yard. "Keep practicing, Rose."

Rose smiled up at her father, and then turned back to the target. She breathed in, and drew the bowstring back. Her arm was relaxed, and her eye was on the center of the bull's eye. She lightly released the arrow and it flew straight into the center of the target. Rose turned and smirked at her sister.

"Well done!" said Thomas. "See? You're not terrible at it. You simply need to focus."

"Yes, it was a tremendous shot, but it was only one," said Victoria. "I managed to hit it four times."

Rose stuck out her tongue mockingly at her sister, and in response, Victoria gave her a playful whack on the back of the head. "It was nice meeting you, Thomas. Perhaps we can have another little competition soon," said Victoria. "And, of course, I would happy to speak with you further this evening at dinner."

"Of course, my lady," said Thomas.

Victoria put away the bows, and left Thomas and Rose in the drill yard. When it was just the two of them, Thomas said, "You did quite well for a lady who claims to be incompetent with a bow. There seems to be quite a bit of steel beneath that silk."

Rose gave him a warm smile, one which he suspected she rewarded too few others. "Thank you, Lord Howe. The women of this land learned long ago that women without weapons could still die upon them. My mother was a shield maiden in the lost, crumbling lands of old Tevinter, and my father is among the finest of all Fereldan soldiers. No woman of such lineage would ever be a wallflower, and like them, I do not fear combat."

"Most of the ladies of this realm are content being proper – learning to knit and learn the latest dance steps, and hear stories of fair maidens with flowers in their hair."

"Most ladies are idiots," said Rose. "If you seek a perfect lady with no purpose, but to be a wife and mother, go on and find my sister Theresa. I fear nothing, but a cage, to keep me trapped while youth escapes me and the long years of my life have been spent."

"You are a lady of Highever," said Thomas. "No cage could ever hold you." He realized why Rose had been Alexander's favorite sister. He had once said something quite similar. Some qualities even the Chantry could not eradicate. "Has anyone ever tried to build one? I mean, are you betrothed to anyone?"

"Thrice, in fact," said Rose. "But they were all fools, and unworthy. Is there a lady to whom you are bound?"

"None, Lady Rose," said Thomas. "My father has tried to marry me to Lady Elissa, but the offer so incensed the western vassals that it was politely refused. I was relieved, for I am in no hurry to become a husband and a father."

Rose smiled again. "You seem to be less foolish than all the anointed knights I must consort with daily. Perhaps my father was wrong about the Howes. Come along, there are some people you should meet."

Thomas followed Rose as she led him to a different part of the castle


	8. Chapter VIII

_**Chapter VIII: The Harvest Feast**_

Lady Helena Maron's solar was located in the Lord's Tower of Silverclaw. The room, like all in the castle, was walled with smooth black stone and the floors were tiled with a grayish-black marble. The door from the staircase opened into a living chamber. To the left of the door was a hearth. A couple logs had been thrown in, and the darkened room was lit by the merrily burning kindling within. The carpet was made of Halla hair, sewn and dyed by the elves of the alienage of Highever City. His mother, despite being a Tevinter noblewoman, albeit from a family disgraced for their progressivism, had a liking for Elvish culture (or what little of it remained extant). There was a small couch, and several leather armchairs arrayed around the hearth.

Hanging on the walls were portraits. One, of course, was of his mother, from long ago. She was likely still Helena Devera, the senator's daughter. Her clothing was ornate, composed of sheer silk gowns and shawls or orange and yellow. Her bright, fiery red hair was elaborately coiffed and jewelry was woven into it. The portrait was made against a stately backdrop, in a stone courtyard, with columns visible behind his mother, and a peacock was displayed proudly on a balustrade behind her. It was likely the estate in which she had lived in Minrathous when she was young. Another was of her many years later, as a wife, a mother, and the lady of the castle. The silks had been replaced by woolen and velvet garb, and the bright oranges and yellows had given way to silvers and blacks. Her hair, once elaborately coiffed with jeweled ornamentation, was replaced by a single braid that descended to her waist, and every strand of it was shining copper red.

The portrait next to hers was of his father, and it was apparent, by viewing the portrait, from where Alexander inherited his good looks. His father possessed broad shoulders in his youth, suitable for a soldier or an arena fighter. His face lacked Alexander's high cheekbones, but it was exquisitely chiseled nonetheless, and he possessed a strong jaw. His gray eyes were as icy as ever, lacking the comparative warmth of Alexander's gaze, and his stare alone was enough to break weaker willed men and banish from their minds any thought of treachery.

"The painter had to coax that smile out of him," said a voice from behind him. Alexander turned around to find his mother behind him, with an amused smirk on her face. She had reached her fifty-first year, but, despite her advancing years, she still looked quite young. Her fiery red hair extended to her waist and cascaded from her head in gentle waves. Her eyes, unlike Alexander's, were bright, sea blue. And she retained much of her beauty, which even her daughter Rose would find difficult to outmatch.

He looked back at the portrait and saw that his father was indeed smiling, or at least giving a half-hearted smirk. "It's wonderful to see you again, sweetheart," said Helena, embracing her son. "I knew you would come. Have the Templars been treating you well?"

"Better lately," he admitted. "You received all my letters?"

"How could I not," said Helena. "I could fill the pages of a book with your letters. Few have been given such an intimate account of life in the Circle. You look well, my boy."

Alexander smiled. "I'm not much of a boy any longer."

"Indeed! It was ten years ago when I returned to find my son taken by the Templars and my husband more enraged than I had ever seen him," said Helena. "Here I stand and you're now a man grown; strong, and sharp, and handsome – but that doesn't mean you'll stop being my little boy."

She looked at the paintings. "The painting on the left is a reproduction," she explained. "It was painted by a friend of your grandfather's, Tyralla of Qarinus. It was lost when we fled Tevinter. I've only just had it redone from old sketches, according to memory, however vague it has become as of late."

A wistful smile adorned her face as she looked at the portrait of her husband. "It has been many years since your father looked as he does here. He was, but the son of the Bann and did not have the cares he has today."

"Surely things have improved?" said Alexander. "We have had thirty years of liberty, and King Cailan is a good man."

Helena chuckled. "Would you care to sit down for a few moments? I know you are busy, but it has been quite long since we have spoken."

Lady Helena's office was in a room adjoined to the sitting area. A large window was opened above the chair and light came streaming in. The room was warmed by the same hearth as the sitting room, as a hole was carved through the stone wall, where the crackling logs were thrown. The desk was covered with documents, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. Alexander sat down in one of the chairs set by the desk.

"Can I offer you something to drink, Alexander?" she asked. "Today is an auspicious occasion; perhaps we can open a bottle of a fine Vol Dorma red in celebration of this day."

"A glass of it would be welcome, thank you," said Alexander.

Helena poured out measures of the dark red wine into two goblets and passed one to him. The wine was uncommonly good and better than anything the Tranquil could make at the Circle Tower, he mused. "Do you often trade with the Imperium? Vol Dorma vintages are expensive, to say the least, and this wine was particularly old. Alexander estimated it was from the early Blessed Age, before the Orlesian conquest.

"You have an unusually refined palate," his mother said. "You're correct. This vintage was bottled in the early Blessed Age, to commemorate the birth of twin sons to Emperor Etienne I. All paid him homage, even the magisters of the Imperium, for Orlesian power had waxed."

"Ferelden was independent back then," said Alexander. "The invasion would not come for years later. Do you ever wonder what this country was like before the Orlesians came? They ruled here for nearly eighty years."

Helena chuckled. "No, I was decades from being born when the Orlesians came. The Deveri were respected members of the Imperial Army, if treated disdainfully by the Senate."

"Why?"

"Our family was magically powerful, but inconsistent," said Helena. "Our family was descended from seventeen archons, but few mages were ever born in our line. Your grandfather was the first in forty years. It made us very popular with the rank and file of the army, and your grandfather was the commander of the garrison on Seheron, winning some of the greatest battles against the Qunari. The local adherents called him the 'scourge of Koslun,' a vengeful spirit summoned from the beyond by their prophet as retribution for straying from the path their philosophy laid out."

"Father must have been the son he wished he had," said Alexander.

"Your father and I met when I was still a girl of eleven," said Helena. "I was to be married to Gaius Varian, a man forty years my senior, but a respected magister with a particularly potent bloodline. The Deveri were waning in influence. Our supporters in the Senate had been killed in wars with the Qunari, or in feuds with rival magisters. All we had left was the army, but that was enough.

"When I met your father, he was an exile," she continued, taking another sip of his wine. "Maker's breath, if his blood runs hot now, it was boiling then. He had feuded with a member of the Orlesian ruling class that dominated Ferelden in those days. Silverclaw was the last castle in the North to remain free of their influence, and the Orlesians, as hard as they tried, could not hold the Wolflands. He and Lord Montfort dueled on the tourney grounds at Highever."

"Who won?"

Helena peered at her son over the rim of her glass. "I think you know the answer to that question. Your father, even at twenty-two, was one of the greatest soldiers in the realm. Montfort died a terrible death, his face smashed in by your father's mace. He went into exile that day, and your grandfather, Bann Edwin, defeated an Orlesian army that had mustered to deliver retribution. Your father fought for some years in the service of Orzammar, and was the first one up the walls at Aeducan Thaig when the then-Prince Edrin tried to reclaim the colony."

"The dwarves never recaptured Aeducan Thaig," said Alexander. "Half the army died to a darkspawn counterattack."

"Your father survived it," she said. "He and Endrin, who was a younger man then, fought ferociously, side by side, in a rearguard action that saved the other half of the army. The dwarves regrouped, and repulsed a push from the enemy towards Orzammar."

She took another sip of her wine. "Your father journeyed north, afterwards. When he came to your grandfather's court in Vol Dorma, he was such a breath of fresh air. He wore no robes, and had not the air of evil sorcery about him. He was proud, and handsome, and honest, but his blood still boiled and he was still smarting from his exile. Six years he fought in Tevinter, against the Qunari, against the Fog Warriors of Seheron, and against the elves. But his integrity made the magisters chafe, and again he fled into exile. Soon, too, my father, uncle, and cousins fell out of favor with the Archon, and when my father and Gaius Varian feuded, we were struck from that body. We took what troops remained loyal and sailed south."

"I remember Father telling me this one story about his time in the Free Marches," said Alexander. "He walked into a tavern in Starkhaven, his purse brimming with gold, but he was friendless save the scant bodyguards he brought with him from Highever who still lived. When he walked in, by the fire, there was this great big man with a lute, playing the song of King Vanedrin's fall at Lothering, where Teyrn Ardal Cousland had slain fifty-five chevaliers by his own hand, where Arl Derron Guerrin cut down Orlesian soldiers even as his chest was pierced with arrows and his face hewn by axes, where Lady Kendra Lattimore of Brightwater fell atop a pile of her slain foes, where Bann Gregory Maron lost five of his fourteen sons trying to protect the king…He said the old Ferelden died that day, drowned in a sea of blood, the blood of heroes and martyrs…

"He said he had been the first native Fereldan he saw since he left home," Alexander continued. "The song, that melancholy poem, made him yearn to return, to throw off the shackles of the Emperor. The man with the lute introduced himself as Harald Terrion, heir to Snowborne. He asked him whether the Fereldans still fought for their freedom. Terrion replied that they did so proudly, under Queen Moira, daughter of Brandel, who was son of the slain Vanedrin the Brave. Father asked whether his uncle, Teyrn Callum of Highever, still lived. Terrion replied that the Teyrn was gravely ill, and that Bryce Cousland now ruled in his stead. He said that Highever was under siege, and that Snowborne had been the victim of a vicious sack. He said that they must fight on; he said that they had to return and drive out the Orlesians. He wanted to go home…to see the Argent Keep standing atop the rock. To ride through the Elder Wood and Andrew's Vale once more…"

Helena's eyes welled up as her son continued the story. "Harald stood up and pound his mailed chest with a great armored fist. He declared that he and William Maron were as good as brothers, and when their feet touched the blessed shores of their homeland, Silverclaw and Snowborne, Winterport and Lowbarrow, Ashcrown and Harlow, yea every man of the Coastlands would come to Highever's aid.

"Father stood atop a chair with his sword drawn and called all able bodied Marcher men to follow him to battle, to follow him to _glory_ in his honorable fight to free Highever and Ferelden. There was a great clamor as swords were drawn in salute, and preparations began. Ships were recruited, armor was made, and an army built. Soon he had twenty ships and a thousand men, but he knew that would not be enough. Then the fleet of Tevinter exiles came, led by your uncle, seventy ships strong with nine thousand men."

"It was the greatest day of my life," said Helena. "I saw your father there, now thirty-three, and he looked so strong and heroic, and his passions inflamed the hearts of all. He promised us a home. Every Tevinter legionary, every rogue, every knight, every slave, every elf swore loyalty to Ferelden from that day forevermore. We, too, yearned from home and our enemies had stolen it from us. When the fleet landed in Winterport, with the banners streaming, the horns blaring, and the people cheering…all of Highever rose up that day. We trapped the Orlesian host between our army and Teyrn Bryce's. With its destruction, Highever was freed and pledged its fealty to Queen Moira. Your father, I had never seen him so happy. Tears were streaming from his face, even as it was bloody and bruised. He fell to his knees and kissed the land. He had been gone for five years…"

"He had been gone for eleven years and everything changed," said Alexander. "He told me it wasn't the Ferelden his father and father's father spoke of. Too much had been destroyed. Too many of our people had been killed. None still lived who remembered when Theirins ruled and all the people would bend the knee. Those days had ended long ago and would never return again."

Helena finished her wine, as did Alexander. "After the war ended and I married your father, we were given Ashcrown," she said. "It turned out for the best, and we have been steadily recovering."

"Yes, yes we have," said Alexander. "And now I return after ten years. Tell me truly, how have you all fared in my absence?"

"Well enough, Alexander," said Helena. "Your father has ruled well this past decade. Have you met your brother Arthur, yet?"

"Not yet," said Alexander.

"He looks just like you," said Helena. "The black hair, the gray eyes…your father was shocked how similar the two of you grew to be. He's shown promise in his studies and he's a fine hand with a sword. When he turns nine, he will be squired at Gwaren."

Alexander arched his eyebrows in surprise. "You're sending him to Loghain Mac Tir? Are you sure that is a good idea?"

Helena laughed. "You sound like your father, only with less snarling and spittle flying about. Yes, I am sure it is a good idea. Your father is a good man and a wise ruler. He has a keen interest in law and administration, and he is a peerless warrior. But he is prideful, and has no understanding of finer diplomacy. His blood boils and his temper becomes stormy at the mention of the upstart Southern lords who were raised from peasantry to be his peers. But Loghain is an example for every Fereldan to follow. Arthur would benefit from his mentorship. He may one day need it."

"I suppose it could be for the best," said Alexander. "I met Victoria and Rose out in the drill yard, but I did not see Richard or James. Where are they?"

"They are in Highever, with the Teyrn," said Helena. She finished her wine and put the goblet down. "Perhaps your father has told you that they have become squires in the Teyrn's service? He expects a knighthood for Richard, at the very least, by the end of this year."

"And Theresa and Elizabeth?" Alexander continued.

"They are here," said Helena. "This winter, Theresa will be married to Ser Roderick Gilmore."

"Ah, a knightly house sworn to Highever," said Alexander. "It's a good line. The man, though, is he of a good sort?"

"I believe so," said Helena. "He is the Teyrn's shieldbearer and is expected to inherit a prosperous farmhold once he assumes leadership of his house. The Gilmores are honest folk, and Ser Roderick is no different. Theresa is quite smitten with him; claims he's the bravest knight she has ever met."

"Then I will have to meet this Ser Roderick and see how quickly he voids his bowels when he learns that I am a mage," said Alexander. "And every girl claims their love is the

Helena laughed. "Perhaps I should reconsider introducing the two of you, after the display in the courtyard with your…bodyguard."

Alexander face grew more somber. "Yes, I know. Antonia has arranged for a physician to monitor him."

"What in Andraste's name is wrong with him?" Helena asked.

"Templars here consume lyrium habitually. It causes many unintended side-effects," said Alexander. He quickly changed the subject. "What about Elizabeth? Who is she betrothed to?"

"No one, as of yet," said Helena. "Do not change the subject. What's this business about lyrium?"

"You…don't know?" Alexander asked. "I thought even the Imperial Circle of Magi had a division of Templars."

"They're soldiers, only," said Helena. "None of them spontaneously soil themselves or break into fits of insanity, because none of them consume lyrium."

Alexander sighed. "Carroll developed a particularly strong addiction when he was a Templar trainee. He's just here to escort me to Highever. It is Templar regulation that a Circle mage when they leave the tower of Kinloch Hold."

"Why has he not been retired?" Helena asked.

"Father bribed the Knight-Commander in Val Royeaux to reject Greagoir's request for him to be reassigned to the Grand Cathedral," Alexander said plainly. "I would object, but having a more attentive Templar would bring more restrictions on my movements."

"The poor boy looks like he's going to fall to pieces," said Helena. "Surely there are reasonable Templars who are in a better state of mind?"

"There are," said Alexander. "But, Mother, look, if the Templar were to be attentive and alert, more restrictions would have been placed upon me. I wished to avoid that, and so Carroll was enough."

Helena looked unsure, but satisfied. "Very well, if you insist, darling, I won't prod further. Have you been enjoying yourself at the Circle? Your letters have lessened as of late, and the past years' correspondence has been a decidedly dull and flavorless affair, chronicling the subjects of your study only. Have you been well? Have the Templars been treating you properly? Have you been eating enough? I met your girlfriend; how did the two of you meet? You never tell me these things in letters."

Alexander laughed. "If I told you the full detail of my life and thoughts, I would be sending you tomes every week!"

"And I would read every page," said Helena. "So, speak up! How did you meet Antonia?"

"You know her father, correct?" Alexander asked.

"How could I not?" Helena asked. "Ser Angus Maitland, the White Eagle, one of Teyrn Cousland's finest knights. His love of the Maker perhaps exceeds his love of king, country, and family too much, but it is a rare man who questions his formidable prowess on the battlefield. Ser Angus fought alongside your father at White River. He dragged Ser Leonas Bryland off the field when he had been struck by arrows, smashing chevaliers with his warhammer as he went."

"Well, it started when I was taken to the Circle," said Alexander. "When I volunteered to leave this castle and ride down to Kinloch Hold, Antonia was being taken in at the same time. We met when the new students were being sorted out. I arrived arrayed gallantly in shining armor, with a sword at my thigh and surrounded a cadre of the fiercest knights of the north. She asked me why I was arriving with such a bodyguard, and if I had other such soldiers, why didn't I simply hold out in my castle."

"The Templars would have simply called for Orlesian reinforcements to pillage our land and exterminate our people," said Helena. "They had already torched a village simply to provoke you into action."

"Exactly, but she and the other students could not understand why, when in possession of the legendary castle which has stood unconquered, did I not simply resist being taken," said Alexander. "Some had bruises from being clubbed, others were simply shackled. Each of them would have given anything to have an army behind them.

"So I joined the Circle," he continued. "All the other students resented me, but I was not abused that day. Antonia perhaps resented my more privileged background, but I don't blame her for it. I appeared conceited to most, still clinging to my lordly ways when I was just a mage as they were."

"They only resented you?" Helena asked.

"I have never been popular at the Circle," said Alexander. "I have done little to integrate myself within their community. My plan was always to find a position at a nobleman's court, not spend my day brewing potions in the dim, musty darkness of the Tower. And to this day, I do not think much of my fellow mages. The Libertarians are blood mages and criminals, and the rest of them are self-hating apologists for the Chantry. I had many a Loyalist mage claim that my father was Dumat reborn for defying the Chantry and retaliating for the insult the Templars inflicted upon our house."

"That is a ridiculous notion," said Helena. "Ser Reginald drew steel against the members of our court. Such a crime, especially such a violation of our hospitality, requires that death be dealt as punishment."

"Ironically, the Templars have the highest opinion of me," said Alexander. "Some of them wish I was not a mage, and that I had joined their order as a knight. As I did not try to escape and I did not engage in Circle politics, I was given privileges – being able to sell translated books and potions for a profit, for example – few others received. Senior Enchanter Uldred lobbied for me to be made Tranquil, he had such a negative opinion of me. The First Enchanter and Senior Enchanter Wynne overruled him, of course.

"Wynne is a fine woman," said Helena. "She had oft visited the North, and she is an honored guest in these halls. I was glad to hear that you studied under her."

"She is an exemplary mage and a fine example for the rest of the Circle," said Alexander. "In any case, Antonia and I grew up together, and while my plans generally hinged upon placating the Templars enough that their restrictions on my freedom would appear unreasonable, she had grown a fierce temper and argued with the Chantry regularly. Every time I told her to stop, she merely said that she was not one of 'Lord Maron's serfs' and that she did not need to listen to my warning.

"One day, she argued about the morality of the Maker's faith with the Revered Mother, and Revered Mother Miriam ordered her…"

"Ordered her …what?" Helena asked.

"She ordered that Antonia be flogged," said Alexander. "I spoke up and defended her, and the Revered Mother demanded that I…be flogged as well. Because the Revered Mother hated me like she could never hate Antonia, I received more than she."

"Why wasn't I ever told of this?" she asked. "You were thirteen and being flogged for defending others from abuse? Did the Knight-Commander step in?"

"The Knight-Commander had little choice in the matter," said Alexander. "Ever since Father crushed his army at Winterport, the Lord Seeker in Val Royeaux has been trying to replace him, and the Revered Mother has many friends in Orlais. The Templars' masters think Greagoir is too lenient, when such lenience would more properly be described as fairness. I did not write about it because Father would find out, and his blood would boil with such a fury that all of us – mage, Templar, and nobleman – would burn to ash in the furious, volcanic maelstrom that followed him."

"Let me see the scars," said Helena.

Alexander nodded and stood up. He unbuttoned his doublet and slipped his arms out through the sleeveless vest before unbuttoning his shirt. When his chest was bare, he turned around. His back was riddled with whip marks etched into his flesh, the scars fading only with the passage of time.

"Antonia has it just as bad," said Alexander.

"You must have been whipped more than seventy times!" Helena whispered, running her hand over the scars. Her fingers were cold to the touch. "This is completely unacceptable. And Greagoir did nothing?"

"Like I said, the Chantry overruled him," said Alexander. He put his shirt back on. "After defending Antonia that one time, she warmed up to me and we have been together since."

Helena looked exasperated. "If you were being whipped, why did you never try to escape?"

Alexander buttoned his shirt and put his doublet back on. "If I had, Greagoir would have been forced to move against Silverclaw, and call for Orlesian reinforcements. Father's standing with the King would have suffered, and all I would have to show for it would be a pair of shackles and a cell to suffer in before the Revered Mother had my forehead stamped with lyrium and my mind sundered."

"Don't speak like that," said Helena. "The thought of you becoming Tranquil would be too much to bear."

"Then you can understand why I didn't simply run away to become a hermit in the hedge," said Alexander. "But neither will I languish in unjust imprisonment. I have a plan, and I would like to hear your opinion on the matter."

"My boy, you know you have my full support," said Helena. "Your father and I will help you obtain your liberty and your rights, even if we cannot see how in the present climate."

"It may take years, but the first step should remove me from the yoke of the Chantry," said Alexander. "If I were to receive a boon, from the King…"

"The tournament!" Helena whispered. "Oh, Alexander, you know mages are not permitted to enter it. The Templars will veto the suggestion and the nobility will laugh you out of the jousting ground!"

"None of them will know," said Alexander. "Ser Aveline, the Lady-Knight of Halamshiral, went to the jousting grounds incognito and because of her, ladies can now be knights without the masquerade. Because of her, ladies in Orlais, and especially Ferelden are treated as people and not as cattle."

"Alexander, Ser Aveline died after that tourney!" Helena said. "Would you not at least find a way to survive the attempt?"

"Of course I would. Are you still in contact with Severio Taurinus, the merchant, mercenary, and one-time thief? The word among the trade caravans is that he resides in Highever still."

"Yes, of course, but –"

"– I need you to write him," said Alexander. "Tell him that you require documents for a foreign knight, from Cumberland, let's say."

"No, no, there will be knights from Cumberland competing; they will expose you as a fraud," said Helena. "I will arrange for you to impersonate a knight from the Anderfels. It is far enough away that fewer men will be able to challenge the veracity of your story based on their own knowledge. Our smiths have spare armor suits which can be fashioned for you, as well as horses. Father has informed me that you are a skilled lancer, so I can envision this ploy working."

"I will never win through honorable challenge alone, and this endeavor is far too important to limit or sabotage with honor. If I must sabotage honor to win a just liberty, I will do so," said Alexander. "I will need you to tell me everything you know about the challengers. I will need your help. Do I have it?"

"You have it. You will always have it," said Helena. "Should I tell your father?"

"No," said Alexander. "When I doff my visor and reveal my identity, his shock must be genuine. If his surprise appears contrived or insincere, it would call my victory into question. The knights, however, would not suspect you, and neither would the King."

"Do you think this plan will work?" Helena asked.

"It will work, or I am a fool," said Alexander. "King Cailan is a good man, but he is naïve and believes himself to be within the pages of a story. When he sees a man who is not a knight emerge victorious in a forbidden contest, his romantic notions of legend and myth will be inflamed. He will follow through with the provision of a boon because he loves stories and wishes deeply to live in one. I will oblige him."

Helena leaned back in her chair. "Then we must get started immediately. I will have horses, armor, and weapons requisitioned for this great enterprise. But, do be careful, Alexander."

"I'll be sure to," he said.

"We should retire to the feast hall," said Helena. "Dinner will be ready soon, and I want what family remains in Silverclaw to meet you. It is a rare occasion that so many sit to dine."

Alexander smiled back at his mother as he made to leave the solar. His plan was falling into place. Through his plans with Helena and this Severio Taurinus, he would sabotage the competition in his favor, and win the tournament. Once he had won, he would request a knighthood as a boon. And once he was a knight, he would request to accompany his father on his expedition into the Deep Roads, a request the Teyrn and the King, owing to his heightened position, would be more likely to permit. Greagoir would watch as his attempts to keep him shackled fell apart like a tower of loosely set bricks. But would this entire business work if he lost? No, he must not lose…

OOOOO

The feast hall at Silverclaw was in the castle's main keep, and was located west of the main hall. The larder where the food was prepared was actually located beneath the feast hall. A set of stairs led to an underground hallway which opened into rooms carved into the Argent Rock, which served as the kitchens and food stores. The smoke from the cooking fires were evacuated through vents in the ceiling, and through a window carved into the rock. When a meal was being prepared, the warm smell of hearty foods wafted through the air.

Bann William took his seat at the head of the table. He had exchanged his armor for black garb with silver embroidery. The sigil of his house was represented as a silver badge he pinned to his chest. His graying hair was neatly combed and his beard was trimmed. It was difficult to imagine the fierce war leader in him when he was making quiet, pleasant conversation with his wife and children, Alexander mused.

He quickly met many of his remaining siblings. Theresa was the exact opposite of Rose. She seemed interested only in speaking of her fiancé, the knight Ser Roderick Gilmore of Highever. She had chosen a much more ornate dress of pink silk and lacy frills, and she had taken to wearing an overpoweringly sweet-smelling perfume. Rose, her twin, was the exact opposite: choleric where Theresa was sanguine; studious while Theresa was gregarious; and seemingly uninterested in the grand game of husband seeking which all young ladies of high breeding engaged in. After the fifth mention of "Sweet Rory's" heavenly eyes, Alexander knew which of the twins he liked more.

Victoria, however, seemed like a kindred spirit. Their discussions were about history, folklore, the state of Fereldan politics, the nuances of the Circle of Magi, and of course, warfare. Like Alexander, Victoria loved honing her skills with both the blade and the quill. His sister Elizabeth, fifteen years old, was completely quiet, save for the obligatory "hello" she squeaked out when Alexander gave her a short, polite bow as he introduced himself. Arthur was a quiet boy, eight years old, yet one who asked him many questions about the Circle of Magi. He, like Victoria and Elizabeth, inherited William's black hair and gray eyes, and he inherited his father and brother's slightly hooked nose. Alexander was struck by how similar young Arthur was in temperament and bearing to himself when he was eight years old.

"How is the First Enchanter chosen?" Arthur asked.

"The Senior Enchanters convene and choose a successor from among their number," said Alexander. "The nominee's name and record is submitted to the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux and the College of Magi in Cumberland. With the Divine's approval, the chosen mage is anointed as First Enchanter."

"So she can veto the choice?" Arthur asked.

"She is the only one who can," said Alexander.

"So, in truth, she chooses each First Enchanter," said Arthur. "If every choice must meet with her approval and hers alone, the mages are powerless in practical terms."

"Well, each Circle could stonewall the process and refuse to acknowledge a leader whose ascension they have not consented to," said Alexander. "But, no, it's not a perfect system."

The subject quickly changed to the upcoming tourney, as Antonia asked Lord William whether he would be participating.

"I will not be," said William. "Few choose to joust against me, out of fear of my reputation. However, many of the finest knights, some of them the greatest lancers in the realm, will be competing. Lord Fergus Cousland, Bann of Highever City, will be competing and he is a formidable warrior. Ser Braden Stone of Harper's Ford, Ser Roderick Gilmore of Highever, and Ser Harold Astor of Rainesfere will be competing."

"As will your cousin, Marcus," said Helena. "He is an avid tourney fighter, and will likely do quite well in the jousts."

Alexander looked at Ser Garrett Farquhar. "Ser Garrett, will you be fighting in the contest?"

"Aye, my lord Alexander, I will be," said Farquhar. "Old Bess is ready for the lists. I've had her groomed for the tournament. This may be her last battle. I've an old mare for my steed, a matron among horses."

"And you, Ser Drusus, will you be competing?" Antonia asked. "I've seen you fight quite formidably in the field."

"I will not be jousting, my lady," said Drusus. "The dueling matches will suffice. I prefer battles on foot, with my mace or my sword in hand. I'm of little use with a lance."

"Alexander, you use a lance quite well I've heard," said Victoria. "It's a terrible shame the Templars restrict you from fighting. You would make a fine jouster, and you'd bring honor to the family name."

Alexander laughed and took a sip of his wine, but not before giving his mother a subtle, but knowing glance, which she returned and hastily looked away. "This is not a contest permitted to mages. We will be there, with spells in hand, to entertain children and the foolish-minded men of high breeding who choose to prance in plumes instead of encasing their bodies in ungentle steel."

"You fought well in the field, son," said William. "We had another raid from the Hard Line mercenaries. Alexander managed to break their vanguard with a handful of Winterport guards, and held the line long enough for me to flank them. Few survived, and our lands were made safer."

There was a smattering of approval from the family, which Alexander accepted with a congenial smile. "It was more the work of the Winterport guards, but thank you, Father, for your praise nonetheless."

"After the tournament, I'm going to write to the Templars in Kinloch Hold," said William. "It's time you had more responsibility in the business of this kingdom. Good minds and strong bodies should not waste away in the Circle."

Alexander blinked. "What?"

"After the tournament, I will petition that the Teyrn permit you to join the court at Highever, as the court mage. The previous one died of a fever, and Teyrn Cousland has been in need of one. I would prefer that it be a mage that I trust, that the Teyrn can trust."

"And that mage is me?"

William looked straight at him. "You're of our blood. Who else can I trust more than you?"

The offer excited him, made him exult in the thought of being free from the Circle, but he shook his head. "The Circle would never allow me to leave permanently, and certainly not in such close proximity to you."

"And yet you are here," said William. "For a hostage, you were returned surprisingly easily. Where are your chains, my son? They've already been broken, you just don't see it."

"Do you want to test the Templars' resolve if I break my oath?" Alexander asked. "Do you really think you can win again?"

"If Greagoir still remembers the thrashing I gave his men, he will think twice before defying Highever," said William.

"He wouldn't be defying Highever, he would be defying you, and while I am sure you could rationalize the two being the same, the Teyrn would not stand for you antagonizing the Knight-Commander. He supported you last time because Greagoir hung himself politically when his man spat on one of the most sacred traditions in all of Ferelden."

"I am trying to free you from the Templars' yoke," said William. "Only when you are free of the Circle Tower can that even begin to happen, yet you sound like you want to remain there. More grateful sons would be thanking their fathers for even deigning to think of their well-being, maligned as mages are."

"Do you think I do not want to be free?" Alexander asked. "I desire such an outcome more than anything. But, as always, your blood boils before it can feed your brain. I am only speaking the truth. If you overplay your hand, the Chantry will squash you like an ant. This castle will be lost, your people will be slain, and your family will be taken hostage. Silverclaw alone cannot resist the might of Orlais, however long it might take for it to be overcome. Loyalty means telling hard truths, father, and whatever else you may think, I am a loyal son."

"I can accept that," said William with a nod. "You have a good head on your shoulders, so much is clear. Very well, I will resist antagonizing the Templars, but I am still going to try and make arrangements for you to be reassigned to Highever. Regarding that, I will not negotiate."

"Fine, as long as a war does not break out," said Alexander. He smiled and sipped his wine.

"You achieve interesting results, brother," said Rose. "It is rare that any man convinces Father that he is wrong."

William laughed. "Such is often true, Rose, my dear. Forgive me for my intemperate mood. Today was marred too early by the start of combat and of dubious dealings with the Chantry. Such heady thoughts often seep from my mind and pollute my discourse at a time when they are most unwelcome. Has everyone had their fill? No one, guest or resident, shall go hungry, and certainly not today."

There was a murmuring that there was quite enough meats, tossed vegetables, fruit, and bread to fill the stomachs of all who sat there to dine. "Good," said William. "The food was excellent this evening, my love," he said to Helena, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I hope you did not slave long."

"Not long," said Helena. "Old Hilda cooked most of this meal. I prepared the turkey, only," she said. "Antonia, dear, when we journey to Highever, will you be stopping at Maitland Hall on the way?"

"Maitland Hall is on the other side of the city, my love," said William quietly. "We can provide you with a carriage when we reach the city. There is one at our manor there."

It was no secret that Lord William, who was the Chantry's most stubborn nuisance, was not on good terms with the devout Ser Angus Maitland.

"That is most kind, my lord," said Antonia.

"How is our Templar guest?" Elizabeth asked. "He looked dreadful last I saw."

"His sickness has subsided," said Antonia. "Once we journey to Highever, we can hand him over to the Templars. Normally, these Templars are supposed to be watching over us, but by some twisted irony, we mages have had to watch over Carroll. Rest assured, his sickness is not serious, only chronic in its presence and reemergence."

"I spoke to the boy, he's a good lad, if a bit touched in the head," said William. "You say he was once a talented knight?"

"One of the best in the Order," said Alexander. "When we were boys, I used to keep my swordsmanship practiced by practicing with him."

"Then he is welcome here for as long as he requires," said Helena.

The hall quieted as a guard approached. "My lord, I beg pardon for this interruption. There was an elf that approached the gates. He said that his presence was requested by you, and is waiting to be admitted.

William finished his wine with a final gulp and said, "Grant him admittance. I have been expecting him, and inform him that his tardiness is excused."

"As you command, my lord," the guard said, holding his arm across his chest as he bowed in salute.

"An elf is coming?" Thomas asked. "Why?"

"Not 'why', but 'who'," said Victoria. "We regularly dine with the _hahren_ of the alienage here in Silverclaw. It ensures that the concerns of the alienage are met."

The guard returned with an elderly elf. His clothing was roughly spun and dusty. His face was completely clean-shaven, which did not give him a flattering appearance, for he had a weak chin. His hair was white as snow, and was worn long. His hairline had receded far back at the temples, leaving him with a sharp widow's peak. He hobbled on a cane, and he dragged one of his feet, as though it had withered.

William pulled over a chair and helped the old elf to his seat. "Welcome to my castle, _hahren_ Koros."

"It is a great pleasure to be invited to your table again, my lord," said Koros, who then turned to Helena. "Good evening, my lady. I hope you have been in good spirits these past few weeks."

"Yes, today in particular has been excellent, _hahren_, and I hope the day has been kind to you as well," said Helena. "Please eat; there is plenty of food to go around. I don't believe you have ever met my son, Alexander."

"No, I do not believe so," said Koros. "_Andaran atish'an_, young man. I have heard you are versed in magic."

"This is true, _hahren_," said Alexander. "However, I have been given leave from the Circle to attend the King's tournament in Highever. It is a rare occasion where I am given such freedom of movement."

"And who are your companions, Alexander?" Koros asked. "I recognize your daughters, my lord, and they look as beautiful as ever."

"And I suppose I'm just one of the servants," Arthur muttered.

"Peace, Arthur, don't offend guests at our table!" Helena whispered while Thomas and Alexander hastily suppressed their laughs.

Koros laughed. "I see young Arthur has retained his sharp tongue."

"I am Antonia Maitland, and this is Thomas Howe," said Antonia.

William returned to his seat. "Now, I would very much like to hear about the state of the alienage…"

"Why is there an elf dining with us at the table?" Thomas whispered to Rose, who he was sitting next to. She looked at him with an eyebrow arched and a half-smile.

"You have never dined with an elf before?" Rose. "Don't look at him as though he carries some sort of contagion, Thomas. My father regularly holds court with the alienage elder to learn of their concerns."

"Oh," said Thomas. "Forgive me; my father usually lets them stew in their own filth and then sends soldiers to put them down when they grow unruly. For the greater good, of course, or so he tells me."

"You describe your father's monstrosity so casually, Thomas," Rose whispered back. "What else has your father done to elves? Or humans, for that matter? I can't imagine he treats them any better."

"He doesn't, but what my father does to his subjects is not fit for dinner time conversation," said Thomas.

"Elder, I must register my concern at the state of some of your children," said William. "My guards inform me that infants have been left to starve or die of exposure, and that other children have been reduced to homelessness and vagrancy."

"The past winter has been very hard on our people," said Koros. "Less of the grain from the silos reaches us every day and our people have very little gold to pay for more. Eventually, supplies have to be rationed and sacrifices have to be made."

"I've already told you that you need not pay your taxes to me in gold, _hahren_," said William. "Maker knows I have more than enough of it. We discussed a whole host of alternatives. Blacksmiths, for instance, pay their taxes in arrowheads. Weavers and cloth makers pay a fixed amount of cloth. What are the most common trades among your people?"

"We have only one smith among our people," said Koros. "A few are shopkeepers, but the rest work as servants in manor houses, or in this very castle."

"There are many smiths in town which you could send your youth to apprentice under," said William. "My own castle blacksmith is eager to begin training elves."

Koros shook his head. "So that our youth can leave the alienage and disperse themselves throughout human society? What future is there for the _Elvhen _when elves are apprenticing themselves to humans and living among humans? What future is there when elven men begin consorting with human woman, and human men with elven women? Should we sit idly by while our race is extinguished by a sea of human children who know nothing and care nothing of their forefathers?"

"I assure you, ser, that human women do not bite," said Victoria.

"Elder, I've already told you that my people have no interest in eradicating your race," said William. "But when your people grow poorer because you simply refuse to work amongst humans, how is it the fault of this court when your coffers are low? I have lowered the taxes on the alienage three times at your request and yet you refuse to level with me. Why?"

"Your solutions will disperse our people and destroy our community," said Koros.

"Is that the opinion of your people, or is that simply your opinion?" Helena asked. "At times, you speak as though you know the opinions of each of the people whose interests you claim to advocate."

"So what would you have me do?" William asked.

"I have already petitioned for –"

"—I am not authorizing a loan," said William. "You would never be able to pay me back. Go to the Chantry if you want a hand-out. But don't expect them to stop preaching against your people in their sermons, or be surprised when they expect you to hand over your young to be ordained in the Faith as Templars and Sisters."

William set down his fork. "What I am willing to do, as I have always done, is to rework the finances pertaining to the alienage to allocate more of our funds towards recovery. But I cannot succeed in helping you uplift your community if you insist on barring your people from seeking meaningful employment and apprenticeships among humans."

"And when my sons bring back human wives and my daughters have settled to be concubines to human men, with a brood of human children without a hint of elvish ancestry in their appearance, should I simply encourage it?"

"Elder Koros, I don't think my father is encouraging your sons and daughters to intermarry with humans," said Alexander, cutting in when his father gave a put-upon sigh and clasped his forehead in his hand. "But from how you described it, the remittances your young people contribute to the alienage from their jobs as servants are not enough to keep your people fed. The Bann repeatedly offered your people work and apprenticeships – as smiths, as weavers, as craftsmen, what have you – so that your people could rebuild a skilled labor force. Yet you refuse."

"With due respect, young man, you have gone from living as a lord's son to living a cossetted existence in a gilded cage at the Circle," said Koros. "Perhaps you should not intercede in matters you do not understand."

"Perhaps I do not understand them," said Alexander. He gave his father a glance, and saw that Lord William's eyes flashed in anger, but he held his tongue. "But do not sell me as a fool, _hahren_. I have lived among many elves during my time in the Circle, and I have heard many of their stories. You're afraid that by venturing out into the world, your young people will forget their families, forget their traditions, and bring about the destruction of their community. But your obsession with isolation is driving your people into poverty. My lord father is making you a fair offer."

"Elder, your policies have forced you to kill your own young, and yet you try to paint my actions and intentions as being unreasonable?" William asked. "You are going to have to make a choice, Koros, but the piles of dead bodies in the streets have to disappear. The rats and flies feed on them and spread plague. If you cannot put your house in order, I will find someone who will."

"Is the Bann of Silverclaw stating his intention to bring in his troops and start governing like a tyrant?" Koros asked. "I will not have a human tell me how elves must organize their society."

"The Bann of Silverclaw is informing you that your autonomy thus far, Elder Koros, has been a privilege, not a right, and one few other Elders in Ferelden enjoy," said Helena. "Choose your course carefully, and remember that you are not indispensable. If your replacement would benefit your people, then then they will be Elder and you will simply be."

Koros stood up. "Perhaps this was a bad idea. Dinner was lovely, but I must take my leave, so as to not spoil the evening for the rest of you gathered here."

He took a small parcel out of his robe and presented it to Lady Helena. "For your hospitality, I present you with this gift: a necklace made by the elves of the conquered west, my kin. The pendant is made of freshly harvested ironbark."

"It looks magnificent," said Helena. "Thank you for your gift."

Elder Koros bowed low and without another word, he left the feasting hall. Alexander blinked and watched as the elderly elf left. "Am I the only one who found that bizarre?"

William sighed. "He understands some aspects of proper court etiquette, but trying to discuss administration with him has given me no shortage of problems. I thought granting the town's elves practical autonomy would free up resources and help the elves lift their community up. Instead, I'm left with men like Koros who use my lack of direct interference as an excuse to isolate themselves and beg for gold when their ruinous actions bear diseased fruit. Helena, contact Severio Taurinus in Highever. He has deep contacts within the alienages. If I need Koros removed, he will know the most prominent names in the elven community."

Alexander traded another knowing glance with his mother, who averted her gaze quickly. "Yes, darling, I will do so at once," she said.

"Who is Severio Taurinus?" Antonia asked.

"He is an ex-Tevinter legionary," said William. "After our liberation, when Tevinters settled in Ashcrown, he chose to settle in Highever City, where he now works as a merchant, but moonlights as an information broker, mercenary, assassin, and thief. He is a thoroughly untrustworthy man, but he's the one who knows everyone."

"And you think this is a man worthy of naming potential candidates for Elder?" Victoria asked.

"No, but his contacts are usually the men least suited for the job," said William. "It makes the search narrower."

The rest of the evening was spent finishing the feast, and when that was finished, Alexander excused himself from the table. His quarters were in the Lord's Tower, near his parents' chambers. He filled up a basin with water and washed his face before changing into his bedclothes.

Antonia joined him soon after. She unbraided her hair and changed into a slip. "Your father is an interesting man. The Chantry paints him as a violent thug."

"Well, they would think of him that way, yes," said Alexander, splashing some more water on his face and rinsing his mouth with a mint wash. ""Did you enjoy dinner?"

"Very much," said Antonia. "You seem nervous. Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Alexander said. "Well, yes, I'm just not looking forward to having to go back to the Circle."

"You could always take up your father's offer to become a court mage at Highever," Antonia suggested.

"It would be rejected in an instant," said Alexander. "I'm too valuable a hostage for the Templars to simply let me go for good. My father and the Knight-Commander are too eager to continue their cold war. Did you know they used to be friends?"

"You mentioned it once," said Antonia. "Hard to imagine now."

"And it's unlikely they ever will be again," said Alexander. "What was Thomas up to while I was speaking with my mother?"

"Rose dragged him to meet her ladies-in-waiting," said Antonia, smiling. "There are four: Lady Katherine Condon, Lady Jane Munro, Lady Michaela Farquhar, and Lady Henrietta Cariston. I imagine that he enjoyed himself."

"Of course he did, but there's no doubt he has eyes for my sister," said Alexander. "Rose is too cynical to admit it, but she has taken a shine on him."

"Your father will be furious," said Antonia. She took her brush and started working it through her waist-length hair.

"He might surprise you," said Alexander. "Whatever else he might think of Rendon Howe, he treats the family well. When Nathaniel Howe was a boy, he used to idolize my father. I was once betrothed to Delilah Howe, as well."

"How many betrothals was it now? Six?" Antonia asked.

"Five," said Alexander. "Lady Elissa Cousland was my cousin, and the Chantry concluded that yes, even second cousins are too closely related. Lady Mary Condon died of cholera along with her parents in 9:16, so, no, I couldn't marry her. Lady Emma Loren was killed during a flood in Riverloft. Lady Harriet Carmichael was betrothed to me, but my father canceled the arrangement when he discovered the girl was a bastard. Lady Delilah Howe was betrothed to me for all of two months until Lord Rendon began slandering my father's name in the King's court. The two of them challenged each other to a duel in Denerim, and the King broke it up. That was the end to that betrothal. Delilah was shipped back to Amaranthine, and a month later, the Templars came for me."

"And would I have been on that list eventually, if the Maker had not plotted to make us both mages," Antonia asked.

"Perhaps, but seeing how much my father loathes your father, I doubt it," said Alexander. "Now, let's get to bed. We've had a long day, and tomorrow we ride for Highever."

Alexander kissed Antonia and then simply fell into his place on the bed. A day that began with fighting off bandits in the Elder Wood had ended with him safely and blissfully at home.


	9. Chapter IX

_**Chapter IX: The Grey Wolf's Procession**_

The village of Sarim's Refuge was centered on the chantry where Sarim Cousland, captain to Bann Conobar Elstan fled after the dark lady Flemeth killed the Bann during the siege of Silverclaw. Other legends told of Sarim fleeing to the chantry after renouncing Bann Conobar. Those in Highever claim he renounced his oath, as honor dictated, to his liege lord in person and fought his way out of the Elstan camp, while tales originating in Amaranthine, where the Howes, cousins to the Elstans, rule, tell of Sarim being a usurper. Regardless, the House of Cousland found its start as a great house of Ferelden in this village. Its people were mostly farmers, with a blacksmith on hand – but mostly to fashion tools and horseshoes, rather than weapons of war.

Dunstan, son of Kenton, came from a family of farmers. His was a life of tilling the land and bundling the bales of wheat and hay from the farm and milking the animals in the barn. Life went as it always did: filled with work of no particular note, for subsistence more than profit, and whatever profit they earned usually ended up in Teyrn Cousland's coffers. Still, while they might have been poor, they never went hungry. Well, unless there was a particularly harsh winter, or the occasional famine. Today was a more auspicious occasion. Revered Mother Erna told him that it was the king's tournament in Highever. All the notable people of high station and breeding would be in attendance.

But his father forbad him from leaving his duties on the farm. How he desired to see Lord Fergus Cousland break lances with Orlesian chevaliers, knights from Starkhaven, Kirkwall, or Cumberland, or with Lord William Maron, his old mentor in combat, both on the lists and on the field, or against his father, the Teyrn. He had heard stories of the greatest knights of the realm – Bann William Maron of Silverclaw, Bann Teagan Guerrin of Rainesfere, Bann Loran Perrin of Blackstone, Ser Braden Stone the Knight Errant. Ser Braden Stone, with his golden hair and his burnished golden armor, the man who once defeated King Cailan, Lord William Maron, Lord Teagan Guerrin, and Lord Loghain Mac Tir in a single tourney to earn his knighthood…

He wanted to be anywhere, except where he was presently, threshing wheat and bundling piles of hay. There was a dull thumping of drums in the distance, crisp and as regular as the heartbeat thrumming against his chest. He dropped the hay bale he was sorting through. He could attend to that later. He knew the horn; it was the wolf horn of Silverclaw. The tavern still hummed with the stories of how Bann William Maron crushed the Templars at Ashcrown, of how his son Alexander marched personally down to the Kinloch Hold to surrender himself to the Circle. In Highever, both events were celebrated, and many in Silverclaw continued to wonder what kind of bann Alexander would have been had he not been a mage.

Dunstan ran through the grass and the straw, leaving the farmhands behind. "Boy! Oi, boy! Where're you goin', boy!" shouted his father from the grindstone.

The woods opened up into a clearing, the dirt path cutting the forest in two. A long line of marching men, dressed in doublets of silver silk and black velvet was marching, with a drum corps leading them, their drumbeat pounding so loudly, the young boy could feel the vibration thrumming against his own chest.

The soldiers were mostly members of Bann William Maron's professional army, a standing force of six thousand men-at-arms recruited from commoner and noble family alike. Their main weapon was the halberd, a sort of axe-on-a-pole that was popular with bodyguards for local nobles and, apparently, mercenaries from the Free Marches and the Anderfels liked to carry them, so he had heard at the tavern. Their plate armor was made of silverite and a wolf sigil was embossed on the cuirass, and over it they wore black sashes pinned at their belts. Dunstan's father kept a military billhook in their hovel. When it came time for the Teyrn to raise levies that was the weapon he carried into battle. The blade point was made of iron, and it was set on a wooden staff, not made of steel like the weapons of the Bann's soldiers.

Dunstan saw several wolves being led by a leash by their handlers. He had heard rumors that the men of Silverclaw bred wolves with mabari hounds, and as such, each one was approaching the size of a small pony. These proud creatures were not owned by mere farmers. Only the wealthiest nobility owned them, and particularly wealthy families had kennels full of them. After them, the Maron family rode forward. He knew who they were by memory. First, there were Rose and Theresa, who took after their mother, the Lady Helena of Ashcrown, with their fiery red hair, and then Victoria, Elizabeth, and Arthur. All three of them took after Lord William, with black hair and gray eyes. Lord William himself was astride his milk-white stallion, which had been dressed in black-and-silver barding, and he was wearing a silk doublet of shimming silver doublet under a velvet coat with fur trimming. His chest was adorned with a great necklace made of golden wolf's head pendants and he donned a flat cap of black felt embroidered in silver thread. The Lord looked down at Dunstan with his cold, gray eyes, but there was no menace in his gaze. He merely turned to a man riding a black stallion behind him, and pointed down at him.

Alexander Maron was dressed in similar garb to his father, but he lacked the baubles his father and mother wore. His doublet was a dark blue, with silver trimming, and he wore a felt cap which covered most of his thick black hair. When his father motioned to him, Alexander tossed Dunstan a small purse. Dunstan opened it to find a small handful of shining gold coins – more than he had ever seen in his life.

The people cheered for the Marons as they rode by. His father, Kenton, walked over to him. He was a stout man, well-muscled but in possession of a great gut, who wore a bristly beard upon his chin, and smelled as strongly of beer as he did of manure. "What you got there, boy? Gold, is it?"

"Seven gold, forty silver, and thirty-nine copper," said Dunstan.

"Give it here, boy," said Kenton grabbing at the purse.

Dunstan held the coin away. "It was mine, Father, the Bann gave it to me!"

"And I'm your father, and you're to obey or I'll beat you bloody!" said Kenton. He grabbed Dunstan by the collar of his jerkin and wrenched the purse out of his hands. "Seven gold sovereigns! That's five years' worth of wages under the Bullens. I have big plans for this money, boy, so you'll keep your mouth shut and do as you're told, you ungrateful little shit!"

Dunstan could only watch as his father laughed and walked away, tossing the purse of gold in one hand.

OOOOO

The Maron family's convoy stopped at Bullen Manor, the residence of a knightly house sworn to Highever. It was a stately house, three floors tall, made of white stone, surrounded by concentric, circular gardens. Farms dotted the countryside around the manor, several of which the Bullens owned.

The Bullen family was the old rival of the Maitland family. The Maitlands were a new family, raised to nobility during the darkest days of the Orlesian invasion, while the Bullens were an old family with a distant connection to the Marons of Silverclaw and the Guerrins of Redcliffe, though such connections had faded with age. Bann William enjoyed Ser Henry Bullen's company simply because Ser Henry was on such poor terms with Ser Angus Maitland.

"Great man, Ser Henry," said William, reminiscing to Alexander and Thomas. "He and I fought in the Rebellion together. He was my banner carrier at Jader. Without him at that battle, I would have assuredly died. Alexander, the day you were taken by the Chantry, Ser Henry was the first knight to pledge himself to freeing you. He killed many Templars that day."

"Does Ser Henry Bullen have any children in the Circle?" Alexander asked.

""One, a daughter named Maria," said William. "But you would not have met her. The Fereldan Circle did not have enough space to lodge her, so she was sent to the far north, to Hossberg. It is likely he will never see her again, so do not ask about her unless she is mentioned."

"As you say, Father," said Alexander.

The gates to Bullen Manor opened, revealing an older gentleman, roughly of William's age, wearing a long coat trimmed with fur. His chestnut hair had faded to a dull grey at his temples and on his chin, but otherwise, he appeared powerfully built, as though the passage of time did little to dull his youth. His staff and retinue had lined the courtyard, waiting with bated breath as Ser Drusus Medicus and Ser Garrett Farquhar,

"Bann William Maron!" he exclaimed, a huge grin on his face. "I thought those were your soldiers marching. My farmers could hear the drum beat for miles all around!"

"It wouldn't be proper if every soul in Ferelden did not hear my approach," said William. He embraced Ser Henry. "It's been many years. Since we put down the Alamarri, I believe?"

"Indeed," said William. "You have met my wife, Helena, before."

"And each time, you grow more beautiful, my lady," said Ser Henry, kissing her hand.

"You are a dreadful liar," said Helena. "But the flattery is nonetheless welcome. I don't believe you have met my son, Alexander."

"We have never met, but I have heard great things about you, son," said Ser Henry, shaking Alexander's hand. "How long have you been out of the Tower?"

"About two weeks, Ser," said Alexander.

"And the Knight-Commander has not deployed a battalion after you?" Ser Henry asked. "I heard how you and young Lord Howe apprehended that Redcliffer beast in Harlow, and then tales of you fighting the Hard Line. Rarely do such tales surround mages of the Tower. You have guts, boy. Your father must be very proud."

"I _am _proud, Ser Henry," said Lord William. "I may be conservative with my praise, but that is because I have eight children. The accomplishments of my children are many, and I find myself needing to apportion compliments and affirmations such that each receives their due and none allow their head to grow too large."

"But, of course, old friend," said Ser Henry. "You are all welcome in my home, my lord. Please, do not simply stand out here when there are warm hearths inside already burning."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ser Henry, I have scores of people in my retinue," said William. "You need not empty your larder and turn your house inside-out on my behalf. We are simply passing through on our way to Highever City."

"Ah, yes, the tournament!" said Ser Henry. "Will you be tilting, my lord?"

"If there is a demand for it, certainly," said William.

Alexander privately hoped that his father did not participate in the tournament joust, for he was the one man, save the Teyrn and the King, who he would not allow to be sabotaged.

William turned to Antonia. "I do not believe I have introduced the two of you," he said. "Ser Henry, may I present the Lady Antonia Maitland."

Antonia had dismounted her horse, bowed, and smiled at Ser Henry, whose smile disappeared upon hearing the Maitland name. "Ser Henry, it is an honor to be so warmly received by you and your household. I sincerely hope that you will not let your disagreements with my father, Ser Angus Maitland, sour the possibility of friendship, and I will endeavor to honor my family and repay the generous hospitality you have shown us."

Thomas leaned over to Alexander. "You've been coaching her well, ser," he whispered

Alexander looked at him out of the corner of his eye and his mouth curled into a smile. He whispered back, "Who says I coached her? She knows what to do and what to say. Her blood is almost as blue as my own."

Ser Henry laughed. "You are most welcome, my lady. I would not begrudge you hospitality on account of your father."

William turned to Ser Henry. "We should have a toast before we start moving again. Have you any of that fine Antivan wine left, Ser? I remember it being a very fine vintage. The 8:73 Blessed, I believe?"

"I've been saving it for such an occasion; I believe we have a couple bottles left," he said. He turned to an elf servant. "Bring the wine, boy!"

An elf servant disappeared into the manor and then returned with a bottle of red wine and a number of glasses. A generous measure was poured into each, and one was given to Ser Henry, William, Alexander, Helena, Thomas, Antonia, Victoria, and Rose.

"To remembering past triumphs," said Ser Henry.

"Aye, and to creating more in the future," said Lord William.

Alexander downed the glass of the Antivan red. The flavor was rich, but not overpowering, and hinted at the presence of spices and herbs which gave it an exotic quality not found in wines produced in Orlesian vineyards. His father had spoken little of his time abroad as a soldier-for-hire, during the worst times of the Orlesian occupation. He likely brought this wine from Antiva when he returned, Alexander mused.

William drained his goblet and handed it to one of Ser Henry's elf servants. "Now," he said. "We must take our leave. I bid you and your household farewell, Ser Henry. Alexander, come here."

Alexander stepped forward. One of William's squires stood and handed him an inked quill and a piece of vellum. He wrote a note and then stamped a seal of wax bearing his sigil next to his signature. "If any country guards stop you, produce this passport and they will let you pass. They know better to halt those on the Lord Steward's business."

"Why is this necessary?" Alexander asked. "Will I not be traveling with you?"

"No, you will be riding ahead, to announce us, and to personally deliver a gift to His Grace, the Teyrn," said William. He handed Alexander the paper and the silverite longsword that Ronan, their blacksmith had made. Alexander drew the blade from the scabbard and read the inscription, written in Ancient Tevene, on the blade: _Ultimus rationalitus regnum_, "the last argument of kings." The blade gleamed, and the hilt glittered from the rubies set into the crossguard.

"I will do as you command, Father," said Alexander. "Should I ride alone?"

"No, Ser Garrett, Ser Drusus, take ten men and form a squadron to accompany my son to Highever," said William.

"The road should be safe," said Thomas, again on his horse. "We should make a race of it: my roan against your black stallion, Alexander. I'll bet you forty silver coins that I could make it to Highever before you."

"I'll take that bet," said Antonia from atop her white mare.

"As will I," said Victoria. "Come on, Rose, you should race too. It's an easy way to earn a few sovereigns worth."

"Oh, very well," said Rose. She mounted her roan mare and took hold of the reins.

Alexander mounted his horse and hoisted the Teyrn's sword upon his back. He turned to Ser Henry Bullen and doffed his cap. "Good day to you, Ser."

The race was on. Thomas raced through the gates on his roan gelding, followed by Alexander and Victoria on their black stallion and black mare, and then by Rose and Antonia on their mares, chestnut and white respectively.

Alexander willed his horse, Orion, to be faster, leaning forward. The countryside around the manor was beautiful – green fields and fertile farms dotting them, studded with forests and woods for as far as the eye could see. The mud was soft, and Alexander could hear the squelching of the previous day's rain in it as he rode past it, before he heard the clatter of hooves upon the stone of the road. Everything was green, and the sun shone brightly as it reached its apex in the sky. He could see Thomas darting down the road, his coat flying in the wind, his cap discarded and his black hair blowing.

He and Victoria were neck and neck as they sped down the road, following Thomas, with Antonia at their heels, when Rose sped through a crop of woods to the south, darting past them on the right and galloping in front. Orion brayed and speed forward, his stamina suddenly restored. A proud war horse, was he, thought Alexander, one not content to be beaten in contests of strength and speed by the delicate steeds of noblewomen.

They sped through the muddy streets of the town of Forge, the last before the hills of Highever City. Coastlander soldiers dressed in plate mail scurried out of the way as Thomas, followed closely by Alexander and Antonia, sped through the main street.

"Sorry, passing through!" said Alexander as they galloped past a row of market stalls. "Dreadfully sorry! Blame the Howe, with the bear on his chest! It's his fault, entirely!"

"The mage is a liar, and about to be forty silver poorer!" said Thomas.

"You're racing against three Marons, Tom; a profit for one is a profit for all," said Victoria.

The horses and riders galloped through town and back into the fields. Rose turned up again, having taken a shortcut, and they began charging towards the hills, their path marked by a dirt trail. Alexander willed Orion forward, but Antonia and Rose were still behind him. Suddenly, there was a ditch at the trough of one of the hills, which Alexander saw too late to bound across. Orion brayed, forcing Alexander to quickly go around, while Rose managed to gracefully jump across it, followed by Thomas. Antonia and Victoria were following him as he galloped to the next hill, where the others had stopped. Orion kept galloping forward, and once they reached the top of the hill, the city of Highever entered into view.

Alexander steadied Orion. "Whoa, there…So – we're here. Highever. A beautiful sight. Ferelden's wealth and culture made manifest in stone and brick, for the entire world to see, the jewel of our kingdom. I think I owe you those silver coins, Thomas."

"Excuse me, but _I _won the race, brother," said Rose, giving her elder brother a haughty expression. "I believe I am entitled to the bounty of forty silvers from each of you."

The four of them each handed her a purse with forty silver coins each, and she looked satisfied. "Now, as we are, I hope, finished with frivolities, let us be off. Alexander had promised our Lord Father to announce his arrival and deliver our gift."

Alexander laughed. Rose, after all, had been more than willing to participate in such "frivolities." "Very well," he replied. "Let us be off."

The city of Highever was the wealthiest in Ferelden, even more than Denerim, where the squalor associated with overcrowding and the mismanagement of the municipality by the ruling Arl, Urien Kendells, had left its coffers empty and its people wallowing in destitution. Highever, led by the Couslands, was a thriving hub of trade and commerce, with its wealth invested in infrastructure and public works, rather than in excess luxury. Its streets were paved with smooth cobblestones, and its buildings were built with gray bricks and bluish-black stones. The city itself was located on the shore of the Waking Sea, and possessed an impressive stretch of docklands on its northern face. The walls were made of gleaming white stone, stood fifty feet tall and were fifty feet thick.

Castle Cousland was located in the northeast corner of the city, atop its own hill which made it tower over the mansions around it. It was massive, almost as large as the castle of Silverclaw, and Alexander understood why the two of them were the only Coastland castles not to fall to the Orlesians during the darkest days of their occupation. Where Silverclaw had a natural outcropping of rock enhancing its defensive position, Castle Highever was surrounded by two walls, which enclosed the keep, and the inner wall was punctuated by drum towers at each of the four walls. The outer wall extended and connected to the walls of the city, blocking and gating several of the main thoroughfares.

Alexander led them down Crown Street, the largest road in the city, which bisected its northern and southern districts. The former regions were occupied by warehouses, the docklands, shops, poorer members of the commons, and the Elven alienage. Due to the city's general wealth, even the poorer neighborhoods were relatively clean and safe from crime, at least when the sun was shining. Long-time residents knew not to explore the warehouse district or the docklands after dark. The latter regions consisted of homes and manor houses belonging to the nobility and landed gentry. Knightly families, those without the money to maintain country estates, made their residences in these urban manors. Important banns such as his father; Bann Cormac Reyne of Winterport, the Teyrna's father; Bann Cornelius Lowan all kept estates within the city.

Castle Cousland came into view. The main gates were at the crest of the greatest of the hills, and the path to it was paved with flagstones. The banners on the ramparts bore the Cousland sigil – an emerald laurel wreath upon an azure field – and the sigil of Highever – two crossed green spears over a raindrop on a black field. Alexander approached the guard.

"I am Alexander, son of Bann William Maron of Silverclaw. I humbly ask that you allow me, and my companions, entry through your gates, and an audience with His Grace, the Teyrn," he said, his deep voice ringing above the din of the afternoon fare and the sound of gulls in the sky.

"Well met, young Alexander," said the guard. "Your arrival has been eagerly anticipated by His Grace. I must ask you, however, to identify your companions, and vouch for them."

Alexander nodded. "I am traveling with Thomas Howe of Amaranthine, son of Arl Rendon; and the Lady Antonia Maitland, daughter of Ser Angus, sworn knight to your lord. These other two ladies are my sisters Victoria and Rose, whom I'm sure you have already seen before. I vouch for their conduct while they are within the castle walls. Is that sufficient, ser?"

"That will do," said the guard. He turned his head and looked up. "Open the gate! New arrivals from Silverclaw!"

Alexander could not see what was happening behind the great iron doors, but he could hear men shouting orders and turning cranks, wrenching open the gate and raising the portcullis behind it.

The gate opened into a large courtyard, with the keep looming before it. A small chapel was located off to the right, while the guardsmen's barracks was to the left. The castle servants and workers cleared a path as Alexander marched through, followed by Thomas, Antonia, and his sisters. Behind the walls were a few rows of houses, residences for the castle staff and workers. The courtyard led to another gate, which opened into the interior of the castle. Alexander noted that the Cousland family retinue had arrived to greet them. A handful of guardsmen and knights were standing before them, clad in steel armor lacquered with a sea-green finish.

"Alexander Maron!" cried Lady Elissa Cousland. The Lady of Highever was eighteen and beautiful, her hair was shining and golden, and flowing down past her shoulders in wavy tresses. Her dress was made of a deep blue silk and embroidered with gold, under a fur-trimmed cloak. "My good cousin, how long has it been since we've seen each other?"

"Ten years, my lady," said Alexander, bowing. "It is only now that the Templars have let me free, if only for a while."

"It has been far too long, then," said Elissa, pulling her cousin into an embrace. "Oh, Alexander, we've all missed you. My lord father has been curious as to your progress in the Circle. He hopes you have been prospering."

"The Teyrn's interest in my career in the arcane flatters me," said Alexander. "I have been progressing quite speedily. You stand before a fully anointed mage of the Circle."

"You will have to tell me all about it when we have all had a chance to get comfortable," said Elissa. Her mood was ebullient as she greeted the rest of the company. "Thomas, welcome again to Highever Castle. You are a welcome guest in these halls, and I hope your father the Arl is in good health."

"He is, my lady," said Thomas. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Elissa, might I introduce Antonia Maitland, daughter of Ser Angus Maitland," said Alexander. "And you no doubt already know my sisters, Rose and Victoria."

"Of course, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Antonia," said Elissa. "Rose, my dear, there is a gentleman I would very much like you to meet once you have a free moment."

Elissa led them through and towards the castle.

"Oh, who is he?" Rose asked, while casting a furtive, but momentary glance in Thomas's direction. "I have many suitors. If he is truly enamored with me, he will have to find his place in line."

"Ser Anthony Carmichael," said Elissa. "He is aged nineteen and comes from a good family in our service. We see so little of your family, with the exception of your brothers James and Richard, of course. It would be wonderful if the two of you could marry, and strengthen the ties between Silverclaw and Highever once again."

"Those ties have never slackened, cousin," said Alexander. "My father's blood is half Cousland and he remembers well the oaths of our family to yours. I am curious, however, what sort of man this Edward Carmichael is. The latest rumors identify him as being the designated heir to Winterport, should Bann Cormac Reyne die. Is the Bann not your grandfather?"

"He is," said Elissa. "The faction in the Landsmeet that supports the Chantry favors him. The faction of the Landsmeet that favors the Crown favors your father. Our family, of course, supports my mother, with the expectation that the bannorn would be a personal possession of my brother Fergus, the Bann of Highever City. Fergus, however, is loath to split his time and energy between two municipalities and hates the idea of being an absentee lord. The other option is that it would pass to me, but as I am a woman, the coastal lords are leery of the possibility of passing the rule of the bannorn to a lesser, Southron lord."

"I'm sure our father is one of them," said Victoria. "Rose, you should do the lady this one favor and at least meet the poor man. If you don't like him, you can always say no."

"Of course," said Elissa.

"Then I will meet him, and when doing so, will endeavor to be exemplary as a potential wife and as a woman of Fereldan, and to be a guardian of my family's honor," said Rose in a steady, but monotone diction, her indifference to the idea laid bare. It was clear that she was used to having suitors lining up at her feet, such was her beauty and the formability of their family's position in the Landsmeet.

"No need to be so glum, darling; I haven't summoned the Revered Mother to marry you to anyone, and I did not wish for you to be uncomfortable," said Elissa. "Tonight, we will be having a most honored guest: General Gadrin Varen, of the dwarves of the Vimmark Mountains. He has gathered all of his men together for one last attempt at retaking Varen Thaig."

This interested Alexander; Varen Thaig, the lost dwarven city to the south, and where his fortunes, hopefully, would be made. "How does he plan to reclaim a ruin lost so long ago to the Darkspawn?" he asked.

Elissa shrugged. "He wants to build an army. To that end, I'd counsel your lord father to expect a visit from these dwarves soon. He knows that the House of Maron is unparalleled in the North for its military, and for its gold."

"Perhaps you can introduce us, when the time comes," said Alexander. "I always wanted to meet a dwarf, especially one from such a unique culture."

"That should not be a problem," said Elissa. "Much of Ferelden will be attending the tournament. The jousts and the melees will be good fun, but my father is convinced that King Cailan intends for the event to be an informal Landsmeet, the contests and merriment interspersed with meetings between banns and arls, and a renewal of the diplomatic ties that hold our kingdom together."

"Forgive me, much of my knowledge of the kingdom's state of affairs is filtered through secondhand sources, but I was not aware that the sinews of friendship and fealty that bound the realm as one were in jeopardy," said Alexander.

"Not in jeopardy, no, but there is lingering resentment over how the Rebellion ended," said Elissa. "Highever, in particular, has been quite vocally against Teyrn Loghain of Gwaren. Many of our vassal lords expected to be elevated to arldom after King Meghren was defeated, many of whom came from families who spent generations in the service of the king, only to find Loghain elevated above them all and return to their homes without the royal favors they wanted."

"He was the hero who led us to victory," said Thomas. "His position is well-earned."

"Wars don't guarantee great leaders in peace time," Alexander muttered, under his breath.

"He was a hero," said Elissa. "But most of the nobility outside of Gwaren feel he should have become a bann at the most. His family, apparently, is too recently of common stock to be trusted with such a vaunted title. The fact that his position is nearly equal to that of my father irks them to no end, and due to a royal proclamation rather that the acclamation of his sworn banns and freeholders no less."

"The Bannorn thinks that Loghain is an upstart, placed there by Maric to exert unwanted royal control over their affairs, rather than uplifted to that position by the will of the people," said Alexander.

"Exactly," said Elissa. "My father, however, is unusually accepting of Loghain, and is eager to bring about closer ties between the Coastlands and the South."

"Silverclaw supports such an endeavor," said Victoria. "And rest assured, our father would not hold a desire for royal favor above his loyalty to his lord and prince."

Alexander noted that Victoria did not say that Lord William was entirely disinterested in becoming an arl, and he was sure his father, deep down, felt entitled to such a reward and insulted that a farmer was elevated above him.

They had reached the castle, and the gates opened. Before him stood Teyrn Bryce Cousland, overlord of the Coastlands and of Amaranthine, and second in rank to King Cailan. He was dressed in a velvet doublet of black fabric with golden embroidery, and a woolen coat with a fur trim. His wife, Eleanor, was dressed in an Orlesian gown of violet silk under a darker cloak of blue, with a fringe of fur as well. Both of them seemed to be in their late fifties, and Alexander remembered the Teyrn having darker hair, the last time they had met, when Alexander was a child. Their son, Fergus, was dressed in similar garb to his father, and looked like him too, sans twenty-five years.

Everyone except for Elissa bent their knee and bowed their heads.

"Father, may I present the children of Bann William Maron: Alexander, Rose, and Victoria, as well as Antonia, daughter of Ser Angus Maitland," she said.

"Alexander?" Bryce Cousland said. "I haven't seen you since you were a boy. He looks just like William, Eleanor."

"The Bann must be proud, then," said Eleanor. "Well, don't kneel there silently, my boy. Rise, and speak freely."

Alexander had never addressed the Teyrn personally before. When he was a boy, he always stood in his father's shadow when William took the family – which, at that point was just him and his eldest three sisters – with him on business to the Teyrn's court. The Teyrn represented all that was good about Ferelden: free men and women united under a just government surrounding a righteous lord, one to whom every man of quality felt honored to swear fealty to; one who dispensed justice to highborn and commoner alike; one who did not hoard wealth needlessly or selfishly, but was generous and intelligent in his expenditures towards the prosperity of the realm. Bann William once claimed (privately, of course) Teyrn Cousland was the only man he would follow not only out of duty, but out of genuine respect and admiration, a sentiment he never echoed with the kings Theirin.

"My lord, I wish to inform you that my father's convoy is en route and will enter the city soon. Moreover, I have been given the task on behalf of my family to deliver a gift to your Grace, and hope that you will accept it."

Alexander took the sword that he had been carrying and placed it at the Teyrn's feet. "This sword was forged in Silverclaw, made from silverite dug from our mines and shaped by our smiths, and fashioned with jewels from the caves under the mountain. We, of the Wolflands, hope that you will accept this gift and take it as a sign of the enduring friendship of our two families and the everlasting oath of fealty sworn by Silverclaw to Highever, since the days before the King."

Teyrn Cousland took the blade and looked over it. "The craftsmanship is superb, and I am sure it will more than suffice in battle. And, ah, what's this inscription? 'The last argument of kings?' Ha! You and your father share a flair for dramatics, Alexander. You may rise. It is a handsome gift, and I accept it."

Alexander stood up, his knees still shaking.

"Don't be so formal, Alex, you're our family," said Fergus. He embraced the mage. "Don't know what they get up to in Kinloch Hold, but you turned out as cold as ice. We have no need for such formalities."

Alexander bristled silently at being called 'Alex,' more of out of habit than anything else, for he knew whose company he was in. Elissa turned to Bryce. "Father, I would like to introduce Antonia, daughter of Ser Angus Maitland, and Thomas Howe."

"Ah, Thomas," said Bryce. "Welcome to Highever. Your father is a valued ally. It is unfortunate we have never had a chance to meet."

Thomas bowed. "The pleasure is mine, your Grace. My father has always spoken most highly of you."

"What brings you out of the Circle, Alexander?" Eleanor asked. "It is not often that we have the pleasure of being in the company of a mage."

"That would probably be best answered when my father arrives," said Alexander. "Needless to say, the Chantry is vested in establishing a temporary partnership with the Bannorn of Silverclaw in the interest of lyrium mining. Recent shortages in the supply from Orzammar have forced the Knight-Commander to the negotiating table."

"Is your father seeking reconciliation with the Chantry?" Bryce. "Divine Beatrix has made it clear that the excommunication of Silverclaw will stand so long as William taxes their caravans and their lands. She expects reparations be paid for the battle at Winterport, and for two of his children to be sent to Val Royeaux, to live as hostages of the faith."

"Forgive me, your Grace, but such terms are ludicrous and my father will never agree to them," said Victoria.

"I did not think he would, and he has my support in resisting the encroachment of the Divine. I only ask because it is in the interest of my people that his feud with the Chantry not be used as a pretext for war. William would defeat them, of course, but I do not want this era of peace marred so soon."

"It will not be, your Grace," said Alexander. "This joint endeavor, with my father obtaining legal rights to sell lyrium at eighty percent the price in Orzammar, is meant as a compromise."

A horn sounded and the air was rent with the sounds of men shouting and horses braying. "It looks like the rest of our convoy has arrived."

Bryce turned to his knight, Ser Roderick Gilmore. "Ser Roderick, have the castle ready to receive our guests from Silverclaw."


End file.
